Labyrinth: Immortal Love
by KnifeEdge
Summary: Sarah grows up, but the powers granted to her by the Goblin King have never faded, and neither has his love for her. For when a man is an immortal, the one thing he has in his favor, is time... JxS. Complete! included, one very small update
1. Growing up

_Author's Note: The characters of Jareth, Sarah, Toby, Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, etc. belong to the wonderful Jim Henson company, and I claim no rights to them. The goblins are another story, but any resemblance to any real goblins, living or (while improbable) dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional... except for Shove, because he wouldn't leave me alone until I put him in the story._

_Author's other note: There were at least 2800 reasons why I shouldn't write this story, because it's all been written before. I haven't read everything else, at least, and as far as I can tell, this doesn't resemble the ones I've read at all. However, we all love the same story, so I figure it's possible that I'm only rehashing the same fantasies that many other people have had as well. But this wanted to be written, and as I'm not really much of a fan fiction person in the first place, I tend to pay attention when things want me to write them. So here you go. I've always told my mother when she asked me if I'd jump off a bridge just because everyone else was doing it that I might, but only if I could do it better. So... here's my attempt at better._

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young girl, named Sarah. To all appearances, she was a normal teenager: she spent far too much time on the phone and in the shower, she sometimes neglected to do her homework, she was a little obsessed with clothes and boys, and sometimes she argued with her father and stepmother. If she seemed a little too fiercely protective of her little brother, Toby, nobody seemed to mind except Toby who would have rather been able to run and play without his sister constantly keeping a sharp eye on him. If she sometimes spent an evening holding strange conversations with her vanity mirror, no one noticed since she was always careful to do so when her parents were fast asleep or out entirely. If she never seemed to get further than two dates with a boy before he dropped her quickly, no one seemed to mind except for her stepmother (who felt Sarah must be doing something wrong), and Sarah (who could never understand why they went from practically begging her to go out with them to practically begging her to never come near them again), and of course, the poor boys themselves (all of which had made the common mistake of assuming Sarah was available, until they'd had a dream or two that quickly convinced them that there were plenty of other pants they could get into more easily, and which wouldn't give them nightmares of ugly, sharp toothed creatures roasting their testicles with gravy). 

So Sarah grew up from fifteen to sweet sixteen, and then seventeen and eighteen. Her baby fat melted away, leaving her slender and long legged, with high cheekbones and delicate features. Her freckles faded and her sometimes problematic skin became clear as porcelain, except for a light sprinkle of freckles that stubbornly clung to her nose. Her long dark hair stayed long and dark despite several attempts to cut it, only to find that within a few weeks it was even longer than before. As with her other peculiarities, Sarah took it in stride and learned to just get a light trim now and then, because it was easier than having to lie about hair extensions.

By the time she was eighteen, she was a quiet, introspective, delicately beautiful young woman, wise beyond her years, and often thought shy (by those who knew her) or cold (by those who didn't). There were a few who knew the real truth of the matter, but as no one else could see them, they weren't likely to tell.

Sarah often saw things that other people could not. She knew, for instance, who it was that stole socks out of the laundry, and who spoiled the milk before the due date. She knew who let mice into the pantry, and who it was that cats stared at when they seemed to be looking at nothing. Sarah herself seemed to be one of those lucky folk who bad luck just didn't happen to. Her tires never went flat, because after she'd scolded the one who did it once he was so ashamed of himself that he always made sure to keep her tires fully inflated. Her milk never spoiled, her socks never went missing, and she never woke up with her hair tangled into a hopeless nest.

What she often did wake up with was a lingering dream of endless corridors and rooms that had no ups or down, only endlessly tangled stairways which she climbed over and over again, desperately seeking something that she knew had to be just around the corner, or walking on the other side of the floor she was standing on. She didn't think it odd that she dreamed so often of the Labyrinth, after all, it wasn't like it was everyday that you go through something like that. Some people would have just chalked it up to a dream caused by indigestion or too little sleep, but Sarah had a lot to convince her that it was real: like the fact that she could see the Goblins now, and that her friends--a knobbled old dwarf, a valiant little fox-dog, and a giant, sweet tempered beast--visited with her now and then and filled her in on what was going on in their world.

Through them she learned that the Goblins were running wilder than before, venturing out farther into the Labyrinth and causing mayhem and destruction to those that normally lived within the vast maze quite peacefully. She learned that the Goblin King himself seemed to be sulking within his castle, still pouting over the fact that someone had finally beaten him at his own game--although even Hoggle seemed a bit surprised that Jareth was sulking quite so much. Sarah was amused by this information at first, then later amazed, because time moved so strangely in the Labyrinth, and Jareth had never seemed to be the sort that would sulk for so long over being beaten by a girl. Most of the time, however, she was just curious about what it was her friends did, and when her thoughts did stray to the dark King, it was usually to think that it served him right for being such an arrogant prat, and for stealing her brother (although a tiny part of her was always reminding her that she HAD been the one to wish he'd take Toby off her hands in the first place and you couldn't really blame the guy for doing his job; she supposed he'd had plenty of time to get quite good at his job and it probably really bugged him that he'd failed for once). When she asked Hoggle about other people who'd attempted the Labyrinth, she'd been a  
bit surprised to learn that most gave up before even setting foot inside.

"Ya see, Sarah," Hoggle had explained, "most people who wish away their babies don't really want 'em in the first place. Some of 'em are sick, or their mother's can't afford to keep 'em. So they end up here."

"I fail to see how being turned into a goblin baby is better than just having it adopted by someone who does want it," she'd pointed out.

"Well, most of the time, mind ya, they're not actually turned into goblins."

"But I thought--"

"There you go again, taking things for granted," he'd sighed impatiently. "They do get adopted, by elves and other fae who can't have children. It's only the ones that are sick, or deformed, and would probably die if left human that are turned into goblins. Although, it doesn't happen much anymore. Not many people are left who believe in goblins in the first place. They're far more likely to still believe in stupid, nasty fairies than in goblins and such. No one has even so much as breathed a thought about wishing babes away to the goblins since you were here. No wonder Jareth's sulking, he's probably bored senseless. Not that I'm about to go comfort him, oh no. Wouldn't catch me near the place with him in such a foul temper. Last I heard, the population near the Bog of Eternal Stench was nearly triple what it was before. I'm keeping as far from his eyes as possible." He threw a hasty glance over his shoulder as he said this, and Sarah thought how unlikely it was that Jareth wasn't watching Hoggle like a hawk. She wondered if he ever watched her. Sometimes she felt eyes on her when no one was there, or heard the echo of a booted foot behind her, when she was walking home at night from a babysitting job. Mostly, she figured that if Jareth thought of her, it was probably with revenge on his mind, and so she tried not to think about him thinking about her.

* * *

As she got older, she spent less time chatting with her old friends, but she never forgot them, or doubted the truth of their existence. Even if she had, the goblins wouldn't have let her. Every day she saw goblins. They were usually well behaved in her house, but she often found them making mischief in her friend's homes, or at the grocery store, or clogging up traffic. She wondered that everyone couldn't see them, as there were so many of them, but they were clever in their ownstupid way and even when you felt sure that they wouldn't be able to get away with a particular bit of mischief without SOMEONE noticing something out of the ordinary, they would surprise you with some little twist that left even the most suspicious person saying "oh well, these things happen" and tsking under their breath as they mopped up whatever mess was left behind. 

Sarah was wise enough to know that no one would believe her if she told them the truth, so she kept it to herself and did what she could to try to keep some order around those she loved. Her stepmother had found it odd that she stopped playing with her costumes and toys so abruptly, but Sarah had found that a taste of what real magic was like had spoiled her for pretend. So she packed away most of her toys, or gave them to Toby, and hung up her costumes for good, and with the exception of her talking to mirrors and scolding goblins and the dearth of men willing to date her, she was pretty much as average a girl as you could expect.

* * *

When Sarah graduated high school and went off to college, her father breathed a sigh that said he'd miss her, and her stepmother breathed a sigh that said that she wouldn't, and Toby breathed a sigh that said "thank god, maybe now I can FINALLY have some fun." It was harder, in college, for her to see her friends, as she shared a room with a staunchly practical girl who viewed Sarah's proclivity for fairy tales and romance as one of those little personality quirks that you just have to learn to deal with or else it'll drive you nuts. So Sarah usually had to wait until Mary had gone to class or off to the library for a massive study session before she dared to touch her mirror and whisper "I need you" to one of her friends. She called on them in college as often as she could, for while she'd been able to accept the rejection she'd suffered from boys in high school, it was even more inexplicable in college. It was like she was invisible, and they'd look right past her at whichever girl was nearest, or, if there wasn't a girl nearby, they'd suddenly discover that maybe they liked boys more than they'd thought they had previously. On Saturday nights, when even Bloody Mary (as Sarah called her) had a date, Sarah's best companion was a gnarled, crabby old dwarf who told her stories about beautiful fae women who had desperately fallen for human men, and dragged them back to the Underground to keep them forever.

* * *

At night, in her dreams, she ran down long corridors toward the sound of music she could just barely hear, or ran up and down stairs hearing the echo of a song just around a corner, or catching a bit of red velvet gleaming from the corner of her eye. She awoke every morning tired and frustrated and turning words over and over in her mind, like a crystal ball being manipulated by a master juggler. _If you turn it this way, and look into it..._

* * *

She tried to study acting, but discovered after awhile that her heart just wasn't in it, so she turned back to books and found that she had a thing for mythology. She tore into comparative mythology classes, and studies on Joseph Campbell with a passion that surprised even her professors. She argued in favor of medieval superstitions and debated with art students over the validity of fantasy illustration as an art form. 

She also found that she genuinely enjoyed working with kids. There was something of the goblin in them that made them a challenge to deal with, and her experiences working with children made dealing with the goblins a bit easier. They seemed to enjoy tormenting poor Mary, and while Sarah could make them behave if she was in the room, once she left it was only a matter of time before Mary's notes went missing (only to turn up in the back of a dresser drawer two weeks later), or her computer disks mysteriously got erased. Coffee Mary made always tasted vaguely of dirt, and she stopped taking her meals in the commissary after she tripped over her own feet there for the third time in a week. Both Sarah and Mary had part time jobs at the local public library, Sarah volunteering with the children's programs and Mary working with the circulation staff. Mary's section was almost always out of order, and she would sometimes find whatever book it was she was looking for mysteriously shelved in the bottoms of dustbins or behind the car repair manuals (unless it was a car repair manual she needed).

"I swear, sometimes, you're getting to me," Mary grumbled one evening as she picked burrs out of her freshly laundered socks. "I keep thinking that it's all that owl's fault."

"What owl?" Sarah asked, her interest in the difference between Arabian and European fairy lore suddenly lost.

"That damn barn owl or whatever it is that's nesting in that tree outside. He swooped down on me as I was coming back from the laundry mat and there went all my laundry, right in the bushes. I swear I'll be picking stickers out of my undies for the next two weeks. And do you know, last week, he dropped a mouse on my head! A freakin' MOUSE. It was alive still and you wouldn't believe how stupid I probably looked dancing around trying to fish it out of my sweatshirt."

Sarah got up and pulled her thin flannel robe a little tighter around her as she went to the window and peeked out. The tree looked black and barren in the fading red light of sunset, and it was still too warm for snow, but a snowy white feather rested on a nearby branch anyway. She opened the window and leaned out a bit to reach it. "Hey!" Mary said and hauled her back in. "Are you trying to test that urban legend about dorm mates getting straight A's if their roomie commits  
suicide?"

Sarah only frowned and twirled the large white wing feather in her fingers. When she went to bed that night, she slid it under her pillow where she could touch it, while she dreamed.


	2. Push and Shove

_Author's Note: The characters of Jareth, Sarah, Toby, Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, etc. belong to the wonderful Jim Henson company, and I claim no rights to them. The goblins are another story, but any resemblance to any real goblins, living or (while improbable) dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional... except for Shove, because he wouldn't leave me alone until I put him in the story._

* * *

The room was dressed in filmy white, and huge white chandeliers dripped from the ceiling. Silk and satin, taffeta and lace, brocade and leather twirled around her dizzily. She was looking for something. Her brother, she thought, but no, he was home safe with her father. Where was she? All around her masks both beautiful and grotesque turned her way, winking and laughing. Sarah spun, looking behind her, still unsure exactly what she sought. She felt she'd been here before, when she was younger, and then it had been strange and beautiful, but frightening. Now it was merely beautiful and strange, but where before she'd felt out of place, now she felt only annoyed. She knew it was here, whatever it was she had lost, and these people were trying to keep her from it. She pushed through a cluster of them, noticing that they were all lithe and beautiful and decadent. If she looked closely, she suspected she'd find that in the corners more than a few of them were engaged in even more risqué pursuits. It was all she could do to keep from screaming. Around her the dancers spun, turning to look at her scornfully. She caught snatches of whispered conversations_: "...thinks he's doing...," "...forever, hah," "...innocent? doubtful...," "...kingdom, what kingdom?..."  
_  
A flash of sapphire blue caught her eye and she turned again. Whatever it was was gone. Frustrated, she pushed past the dancers and climbed the stairs. A feathered fan fluttered beside her, and she smelled cedar and spices and something wild, dark, and untamed. Again she spun toward it to find nothing but more masks, more dancers. She went back down the stairs, and a gloved hand reached out and touched her hair as she passed, she turned just in time to see a sapphire blue coat and a wisp of long silver blonde hair vanish in the other direction. Again she tried to climb only to be stopped by a group of revelers who were busy playing a game with mirrors. One of them turned a mirror toward her and she paused, surprised by her reflection. 

She was beautiful, a woman-child, tall and slender, in a fairy-tale gown of white and gold and silver. Her hair was an elaborate construction of curls and silver leaves and cobwebs, with jewels winking out of the dark strands. The mirror turned away, catching another glimpse of blue before it did that sent her spinning again...

Sarah woke up dizzy and frustrated, the owl feather clutched in her fist. She did her best to smooth it out, and left it under her pillow before she got out of bed to get ready for class.

* * *

For the next few days, she kept an eye open for the owl. When she finally did find it, it wasn't in a tree, it was in a book. She'd been delving through the university library's mythology section for a couple of years now, and she still hadn't read everything. There was so much folklore to dredge through, but she had found a knack for picking up the truths from the exaggerations or the "fairy tales." Accounts of goblins were the easiest for her to find truth in, but for some reason, todayshe'd picked up a book on the fae. Fae she'd discovered, were the royalty of the faery world. Some were well known, such as the powerful Seelie king Oberon and his queen, Titania. There were darker fae, the unseelie, or dark sidhe: like the Morrigan, who preyed on battlefields. And there were some that fell into neither the Light or the Dark... and it was here that she found him. It wasn't much, just a side note to another story, of a Fae Lord who, due to his dual nature, both light and dark, was given the kingdom of the goblins to rule, for goblins were neither light, nor dark, but held elements of both. They were chaotic and mischievous and had needed a ruler with a similarly mercurial nature, to keep them in balance. In the story it was unclear if he had been punished or rewarded with his role, but it was clear that he was something of an enigma. There was a sketch in the book, which was what had first caught her eye, of a tall pale man with wild hair and exaggerated fangs, dressed like a vampire with a high collar and flowing black cloak. There was only a passing resemblance, and she might have missed it, were it not for the owl depicted on the barren black tree behind him, and the round clear crystal he held in one gloved hand. 

"Jareth," she whispered, using his name for the first time, and ran a finger over the drawing.

A book fell off a nearby shelf and she looked up quickly, in time to see a small, grotesque little face with beady black eyes peering from between the books at her.

"You want King, Lady?" It said, its ears perked up. "I get him, if you want."

"Oh, no," she said, startled. "I... was just thinking. I don't want to disturb him."

"Not disturb," said the goblin, sticking a crooked finger in its ear and fishing about for a moment, before pulling it out and licking it experimentally. "He just sittin' on the throne, grouchin' all the time and starin' at bubbles. He don't even sing for us no more."

"He sings?"

"When he bored. Now he just stare at bubbles. Stupid bubbles. Wanna taste?" It offered her its finger.

"No thanks," she said politely. The goblin shrugged and sucked on its finger a little more. "Is he... angry, at me, do you think?" The little goblin grinned, showing her several sharp teeth, and pushed a second book off the shelf.

"Not angry," it said, and knocked over a third. "Sad, a little, maybe." Sarah picked up the books that had fallen and put them on her table. Then she looked around quickly to see if anyone was watching. The library, as usual was deserted this time of day, so she put out her hand and let the little goblin climb into it. He was a tiny thing, not much bigger than her hand, and he wrapped his own tiny fingers around her thumb and held on as she put him carefully down on her table. He immediately set about pushing her pencils off the table, one by one.

"I can't imagine him sad," she said.

"Mopey. Grouchin'. Ooff," it said as it tripped over the edge of the book. It looked down at the picture and suddenly burst into a wild cackle of laughter, dancing about and pointing and clutching it's stomach as it howled with mirth. Sarah waited until the worst of it had died down, and watched with amusement as the little goblin wiped tears from his eyes, still snickering. "Gotta show him this. Make him laugh," it said and started to tear the picture out. Sarah put her hand down on top of it.

"Wait here," she said and picked up the book. She came back a few minutes later with a small photocopy of the picture. The little goblin studied it critically, compared it to the original for a moment, then carefully chewed around the edges of it until they were ragged and a little wet with goblin saliva.

"No good unless broken," he told her seriously, regarding his work. He hadn't chewed the picture itself. He looked pleased. "King gonna love this."

"Give him my regards," Sarah said. The little goblin eyed her curiously for a moment, then nodded.

"I do that, Lady." It patted her hand gently, as though it were comforting her. "It be all right," it said cryptically, "just wait. You see." And then it disappeared.

That night, she pushed through the crowd of revelers in time to catch a glimpse of a straight back clothed in a glittering blue coat as it waltzed away from her, and her stomach gave a strange little lurch at the idea that someone else was dancing with him.

* * *

"Where've you been?" Mary asked her curiously a few days later. "I found a guy that I think you might like. I've been trying to bring him around when you're here, but, well, you're never here and frankly, I'm an accident waiting to happen lately, whenever I'm in here." She shot a dark glance at the window. "Do you know I've stubbed my toe exactly thirteen times in the last three days, and always on the same book? What the hell? I keep picking it up and putting it back on the shelf and then I turn around and there it is, right back in the middle of the floor. I'm going to get Joe to make sure this damn shelf is level." 

"Hmm?" Sarah said, absently, still absorbed in her book. She'd found a reference to a "goblin king" in a book of Irish folk tales and was still skimming through the section, looking for anything that might ring true to her.

"You're not even listening to me," Mary complained. "Earth to Sarah!"

"I'm listening," she said, blinking a bit owlishly herself.

"I'm telling you that I found you a guy."

"A guy?" She frowned.

"You know, the male of our species? Tall, dark, handsome, equipped with broad shoulders and dangly bits?"

Sarah blushed. Mary laughed. "God, girl, do you want to die a virgin? I'm calling him right now to come over, before you bury your nose back in that book again. What the hell are you reading about anyway?" She picked up the book and studied a rather lurid illustration of a fair haired Fae Lord, dressed in black, whispering nightmares into the ears of a sleeping maiden (Sarah had already made her destructive little goblin friend a copy, thinking that he might find it funny as well). "You really need to get laid, Sarah," Mary told her, closing the book and putting it up on the shelf. "Come on, put on some makeup and do something with all that hair, you're going out tonight with a real, live, human male." Sarah only sighed, she finally felt she was getting somewhere. Mary turned to pick up the phone and promptly stubbed her toe on the Irish folktales book which was now lying in the middle of the floor. "DAMN it!" she said, as she hobbled to the phone, and Sarah saw her little friend peek out from under Mary's bed and wink at her.

* * *

True to her word, the guy Mary produced was indeed tall, dark, and handsome, with broad shoulders (although Sarah couldn't have been less interested in his dangly bits, even if he'd pulled them out to prove Mary's veracity). His name was Brad, and he was a med student, in his senior year, preparing to go off to grad school. He was smart, and charming, and funny, and he took Sarah out to dinner at the nicest restaurant she could ever remember going to, and Sarah found that he didn't interest her one bit. He was just so... bland. At the end of the evening, he walked her to her door (where Mary had left her a note to tell her that she was at Joe's and wouldn't be home till the next afternoon and to get on with it already), and waited awkwardly as she unlocked it. Then he leaned down and kissed her. 

Sarah had been kissed before, a few times. She knew enough about it to know that she in general approved of kissing, and that so far she hadn't met anyone who could really blow her away with a kiss. Brad was pretty far down on the scale, as far as kissers went, but he was warm and tasted a little bit like wine, and he didn't give her much choice in the matter. So she let him wrap his arms around her and kiss her again, a little harder, his lips a bit mushy against hers, and then she tried to back away. He refused to let go. He was staring at her oddly, his eyes very dark and unfocused, and he kissed her again, quickly, pushing her up against the door and bruising her lips. "You're so beautiful," he murmured against her mouth, and then he must have opened the door, because she suddenly stumbled backwards into her room, and then he had shut the door again and was kissing her and pushing her toward the bed.

She brought both hands up and pushed at his chest, but he was both bigger than she was, and stronger, and so far gone that he probably didn't even register it.

"Stop it," she said, when he finally released her mouth, but he only laughed and kissed her jaw and then her ear. "Stop it," she said again, and "Get off me." But he ignored her and pushed her down until she was on the bed and he was looming over her. She opened her mouth to scream, but it never came, because the window was suddenly open, and someone else was in the room. Brad was hauled off of her so quickly that he dropped her, and she hit her head on the headboard as she came down. She sensed, more than saw, Brad cowering on the floor and crawling for the door, and the room felt dark with thick, angry emotions that she wasn't sure were entirely hers. The door opened and Brad left, and Sarah heard every one of the goblins that lived in her dorm running, screaming after him down the hall, shouting goblin obscenities and hurling themselves at  
his feet. Then a pair of strong arms was lifting her up, and tucking her into bed, and soothing the bump on her head until it didn't hurt anymore. Sleepily, she tried to see who it was, but the room was very dark, and all she caught was the glitter of eyes and the soft glow of light where it caught in his hair. She snuggled down under her blankets, and reached out one hand to touch the one that was caressing her hair. It was wearing a leather glove. She frowned at that, sleepy and confused, but she tangled her fingers with his never the less, and murmured "Thank you."

Just before she dropped off to sleep she thought she felt a gloved finger brush over her bruised lips, soothing them as well, sending a shiver down her spine.


	3. Oubliette

_Author's Note: The characters of Jareth, Sarah, Toby, Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, etc. belong to the wonderful Jim Henson company, and I claim no rights to them. The goblins are another story, but any resemblance to any real goblins, living or (while improbable) dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional... except for Shove, because he wouldn't leave me alone until I put him in the story._

* * *

In the morning, she found the room had been tidied, albeit a bit badly, and the goblins she saw poking their long noses around the corners of things all regarded her cautiously, as if they'd suddenly noticed something about her that they hadn't seen before. She tried to ignore them, and the way her lips were still tingling, by focusing on her book. Generous and cruel, she thought, as she read further on. The Goblin King, according to this legend, was the result of a liaison between a Lord of the Unseelie and a Lady of the Seelie Courts. Doomed forever to be distrusted by both the Dark and the Light, he was given his kingdom when the world was still young, and the goblins were in desperate need of a leader. He was seldom mentioned in stories, because goblins themselves were distasteful as a subject, and were looked down on by just about everyone. How lonely, she thought, one would be if everyone rejected you for reasons you could never control. He was variously described as a "cruel tormentor" of those who would give up their children, and just as often as a benefactor to the same children he took, finding them homes, or helping them survive by turning them into goblins. She got the opinion that he was looked down on by the light as a necessary evil, and spat on by the dark because he never killed either those children that he took, or those who attempted to win them back by attempting to solve his Labyrinthine kingdom. Those who attempted it, and failed, often returned home broken and miserable. There were a few accounts, buried in another book she'd found, of him killing, but each time he'd been provoked by a particularly terrible example of parenthood. Somehow, she found she could not fault him for removing those who would harm children.

All of this, of course, she weighed against what she already knew of him. She knew he could be terrible and cruel, but she supposed she'd deserved that for being as selfish and awful as she had been, to wish Toby away in the first place. And, after all, hadn't that been what she was expecting? He had performed the role well. It was only at the end when he'd slipped a bit from what she thought he was supposed to be, to something more dangerous, but less cruel. He'd been seductive, and demanding, and she hadn't really understood what he was offering her at the time. After all, she'd been so caught up in living the story that she probably would have done the same thing even if he'd been standing on his head and yodeling show tunes, she thought. And her final revelation, that he had no power over her, seemed somewhat anticlimactic, in retrospect. She'd traveled so far, only to throw it in his face that he was not the "boss of" her (as Toby so often put it).

* * *

The following year, Sarah applied for a single room, and got it, and she and Mary parted ways, rather gladly on both sides; although Sarah suspected that the goblins would never quite leave poor Mary alone anymore, once they'd discovered what an excellent source of fun she'd proved to be. Sarah dived into her studies, pouring over ancient books, looking for clues and truths. She forgot to eat, sometimes, she was so frantic for knowledge, but the goblins often brought her things they'd stolen from the commissary that weren't too dirty or bruised or what have you. Sleep, for Sarah, had never been particularly restful, and at night her dreams were dizzy with stairs and candles and upside down rooms and people in masks whirling past. In her dreams she searched ever more frantically, always feeling eyes on her, or someone just behind her, just before she woke up.

One night, she fell asleep with her head pillowed on her book, and dreamed that she was falling into a deep dark hole filled with hands. Instead of catching her, though, they just carefully lowered her until she was falling a short distance into a very dark room, and a trapdoor was swinging closed somewhere far above her. It was neither cold, nor hot here, neither wet, nor dry. But it was very, very dark. She stood up, and groped around in the dark until she found a wall, and then carefully sliding her feet forward she followed the perimeter of the room. In the dark, she could not tell where she had started from, however, and the walls were so uneven that they gave no clue. The room might have been infinitely big, or incredibly small and she had no way of knowing.

She was in the oubliette. _It's a place you put people, to forget about 'em._

He wanted to forget about her. But she hadn't done anything! She almost thought that it wasn't fair, but realized that fair never had figured into any of it. Was it fair of her to wish away a helpless baby to a kingdom of goblins? Was it fair of her to have relegated him to the role of villain when she hadn't even known his name? Was it fair that he was forced to spend an eternity ruling a kingdom of creatures that could never be his equals, and always denied the trust or friendship of those who were? It was no wonder he was cruel, for life had been cruel to him. It was no wonder that he viewed his cruelty as generosity, for wasn't it kinder to be cruel to those who wouldn't understand or welcome kindness?

She had defeated him, yes. She had chosen to undo the wrong she had done to her brother, to rescue him from the fate she had so carelessly wished for him. But who would rescue the Goblin King? She'd had the option, then, she felt, and had tossed it away. What else could she have done though? She had been so young, her brother so little, she hadn't known what she was giving up, and wouldn't have been prepared to accept it if even if she had. Was that fair?

All she knew was that she didn't want him to forget her. If she could ever right the wrong she'd done him, she would try, but he had to remember her.

Hours passed, or minutes, or days, or seconds. She couldn't tell in the dark, and her heart was beating so fast she couldn't measure time by it either. Her throat caught on a sob, and she tumbled to the center of the oubliette, crying out his name.

"Jareth!" she cried, until she was nearly hoarse, and then she fell to her knees and sobbed out her frustration and regret. "Please, don't forget me," she begged.

And a pair of warm arms lifted her up and wrapped around her, pulling her against a male chest. She twined her fingers in the loose collar of his shirt, and cried until she could not cry anymore, while his gloved hands soothed her back and arms and smoothed over her hair. She'd never before been so close to him, and even through the pain she could feel the solidity of him, the warmth that radiated from his body. She could hear the strange beat of his heart beneath his skin and realized it was thudding as fast as hers. His hands were gloved, but his shirt was open and her cheek rested against the bare skin there. She held on to him, breathed in the scent of cedar and leather and his own wild, dark magic. "Don't forget me," she whispered sleepily, her tears finally exhausted, and her eyes drifting shut. Gloved fingers tilted her head back and a pair of soft lips brushed hers briefly, sending a shock through her body and causing her to sit up at her desk with her hand pressed to her mouth.

She stared around at the walls of her room in confusion and, breathless, felt her lips tingle with the afterimage of his lips on hers, and the echo of his harsh whisper in her ears: _"I can't."_


	4. Falling Down

_Author's Note: The characters of Jareth, Sarah, Toby, Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, etc. belong to the wonderful Jim Henson company, and I claim no rights to them. The goblins are another story, but any resemblance to any real goblins, living or (while improbable) dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional... except for Shove, because he wouldn't leave me alone until I put him in the story._

* * *

She graduated college with degrees in Mythology and Folklore, and a minor in literature that allowed her to take up teaching, because she couldn't think of anything else she really wanted to do. Her days were spent herding middle schoolers toward knowledge, which she discovered was a lot like trying to persuade goblins to sit quietly and knit sweaters. Her evenings were spent pouring over books and writing papers on the things she found that sometimes got published and sometimes did not. Occasionally she wrote stories, short ones, of fairies and goblins and these got published far more often than her papers did, which just went to show that fantasy would always win out over reality, no matter how fantastic that reality was.

On the weekends she drove up to the old house to visit with Toby and see how he was getting on.

He was a sturdy lad of about seven, prone to driving his parents crazy with his mischief, and always going on about his invisible friends.

It didn't take long for Sarah to realize that his invisible friends weren't quite so invisible to her.

There was Tunk, who liked to play hide and seek, usually with her stepmother's things, who introduced himself to her when he turned up with her old bear Lancelot in hand. "Me like bear," said Tunk, and Sarah knew it was Tunk who had stolen Lancelot from her so often when she was younger. She patted the ugly creature on the head and as he scampered off Sarah plucked her car keys out of his back pocket and put them back in her purse. There was Deeb, who's favorite trick was to tuck up the corners of rugs and carpets, so that her father would trip over them. He had a short stubby nose, and a wide grin that Sarah found infectious, but she put her foot down when she found him teaching Toby to leave his toy cars on the stairs, right were her father was most likely to trip. And there was Sludge, who, true to his name, found joy in all things gooey and gross, and who was always fiddling with the microwave so that things would explode all over the inside of it, or trampling the backyard to mud after it had snowed. Toby was still young enough toremember how Sarah had watched him when he was a baby, but he was old enough to know that not everyone could see his friends--and it was with joy that he found that his sister could. He could tell her all about their adventures, never worrying that she wouldn't believe him, and Sarah found that she was truly glad she'd rescued her brother because it turned out she loved him after all.

Her stepmother was always concerned about her lack of love life, but Sarah merely turned her questions aside politely, or, when pressed if there was someone she was interested in, gave a shrug and a smile that were enough to stem the tide for a bit, if not hold it back entirely.

* * *

When Sarah turned twenty four, her mother died. It had been a long time since she'd last spoken to her, but she still followed her mother's Broadway career and occasional ventures into television with interest. It was an accident, the reports all said, the car had been going too fast, and the road was slippery with ice. These things happen. Sarah demanded to look at the car, afterwards, inexplicably both worried and furious, but she found no sign of goblin tampering. All the goblins in  
the area seemed very sad, but none of them took responsibility for the accident, and Sarah felt inclined to believe that they'd really had nothing to do with it. Sometimes an accident is just an accident.

The night before the funeral, she called her friends to her mirror and chatted with them about nothing. Hoggle's eyes looked worried, and Ludo looked sad, and Didymus for the first time looked a little old with white around his muzzle and graying the fur around his eyes. While her friends brought her a measure of comfort, she found they were not what she needed, and for the first time she found herself wishing for arms to hold her, and a shoulder to cry on again.

She carefully took the owl feather out of the carved wooden box she kept it in and put it under her pillow before she went to sleep, but found when she laid down that sleep was hard in coming.

Sarah thought about her mother, and about her life. She thought about her brother and his friends. She thought a great deal about the emptiness of her little apartment, and the even vaster emptiness of her bed, and wondered why she'd never tried harder with men. After awhile she got up and went to her vanity again, and studied her face in the mirror.

Her hair was still long and dark, and it had gotten wavier over the years, and thicker, so it tumbled around her shoulders wildly. At school she always pulled it back or pinned it up, but at home she left it loose. She still had a few freckles sprinkling over her nose and her cheeks, but otherwise her skin was fair and clear. Her eyes were still her best feature, though, large and dark hazel green, and in them she could read her own innocence and her own lack of mystery. It was the face of a woman who still had the innocence of a child. It was a pretty enough face, she supposed, but there was little in it that was tempting beyond basic prettiness. Other women had allure, or education, or wisdom written across their faces, but Sarah saw none of that in her own and she wondered why someone who was both beautiful and terrible, who was cloaked in mysteries so thick that it hung about him like his cloak, whose very eyes were a heady mixture of enigma and seduction, would ever look at her as anything more than just a child. It surprised her, a little, that she wanted him to think of her as something other than a child. She wanted, more than anything, for him to see her as a woman.

She looked down at her fuzzy flannel pajama bottoms and her t-shirt, and without thinking about it too much, she slipped them off and went back to bed.

* * *

She dreamed she was back in the ballroom again, only instead of everything being white, it was all draped in black velvet, and the dancers wore dark colors that seemed to flow with sadness. She looked down to discover that she herself still wore white and silver and gold, and imagined that she probably shone like a star against so much darkness. She stood in the midst of the dancers, but made no move to push past them. Her eyes felt tired from holding back tears, and she, herself, felt tired of playing this long game of cat and mouse. So she closed her eyes and just listened to the music, and the whispers of the dancers as they twirled around her. There was pity, in their voices, and a little bit of awe, but the music was beautiful and soft and comforting in it's own way so she didn't mind their stares and whispers so much.

When he took her hand in his, she did not open her eyes, but allowed him to pull her to him, and place his hand on her waist and lead her into the dance. Neither of them spoke, and she kept her eyes closed for awhile, just enjoying the feel of his arms around her, and the gloved gentleness of his hand in hers. When they spun, she felt his hair brush her face, and the scent of him enveloped her, drugged her, until she felt as light as a feather in his arms.

Sarah opened her eyes, at first carefully studying his collar, and how the gems sewn into it caught the light. She let her eyes travel to his throat, and the black jewels that caught his stock and held it in place, and thought that they looked like little black spiders. His throat was smooth and pale, and his hair was a little longer than she remembered it being before, and when he moved, and she could see more of his throat she found that the muscles in it were tight and corded, as if he were clenching his jaw. He spun her again, and pulled her a little more tightly against him, and he followed the line of his jaw to his chin, and then to his lips, which were pressed firmly together. Up close she could see that the discoloration along the sides of his nose was natural, not makeup as she'd first assumed, but the actual shading of his skin, which surprised her into looking up into his eyes, to see if they, too, were natural.

He was studying her intently, and she felt her breath catch when she looked into his eyes. He had beautiful eyes, exotically shaped, the coloration around them was both natural and not, for she found she could see where he'd placed some glamour to enhance his own natural beauty. His eyes were both blue, she noted with surprise, but the pupil of one was slightly larger than the other, and she felt like it could see straight into her soul. His winged eyebrows were drawn down in a frown, and his face was set with a mask of coldness that was somehow more intimidating than the fantastic masks of those who danced around them. Sarah bit her own lip, but did not look away from him, nor did he look away from her.

Eventually she realized that the rest of the dancers had stopped and had moved away, leaving the floor clear for the two of them. They watched quietly from the sidelines, still whispering among themselves, but more than ever she didn't care. It was enough that he was here, that she was in his arms, that he was dancing with her, and that there was no where else she'd rather be. It seemed to go on for hours, but finally the music stopped, and he spun her around one final time, then stepped away from her and bowed low over her hand, where he still held it in his gloved one. He brushed his lips against her fingers, and once again she felt that strange electric tingle when his skin met hers, but she did not pull away. Instead, when he straightened, she stepped close to him again, stood up on her toes, and lightly kissed his smooth cheek. When she stepped away again, he was regarding her with something like surprise, but again he said nothing.

"I wish..." she said, feeling the dream start to fade, "I wish you would let me be your friend."

Then she was awake, and sunlight was streaming through her window, and it was time to get up and go bury her mother.


	5. Funerals and Friends

_Author's Note: The characters of Jareth, Sarah, Toby, Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, etc. belong to the wonderful Jim Henson company, and I claim no rights to them. The goblins are another story, but any resemblance to any real goblins, living or (while improbable) dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional... except for Shove, because he wouldn't leave me alone until I put him in the story._

* * *

The funeral was packed with her mother's old friends and colleagues. Actors and actresses of all walks of life turned out to say goodbye to the beautiful woman, and many of them, later, remarked on how much the daughter had surpassed her mother in beauty and grace. Sarah heard none of it, she was far too busy marveling over the number of goblins who had turned out for the funeral, and who, it seemed, were on their absolute best behavior. They stayed out from underfoot, and stood about in the corners and cracks of things, watching with big, solemn eyes. But they weren't watching the mourners at the casket, or the priest's dreadfully long sermon. They were watching Sarah, and she was having a hard time ignoring all those eyes turned toward her from so many directions. But she kept her back straight, and her shoulders squared, and she greeted those who wanted to say something to her about her mother with all the politeness and dignity that she could muster. The only time she almost lost it was when her mother's ex-fiance approached her to offer her his condolences. It was odd, she thought, but there was something in his eyes, and the way that he smiled that reminded her of Jareth. It seemed that she and her mother had similar tastes in men. She thanked him, and let him hug her, and then she put the sad smile back on her face, and turned to the next person and took their hand and murmured something gracious, but her thoughts were somewhere else, thinking of a pair of mismatched eyes frowning down at her. 

At the cemetery, she stood quiet and still beside her mother's agent and manager, and regarded the casket quietly. She had never really known her mother, she had been this glittering smiling person who Sarah had wanted to be for years, growing up. She had been beautiful, and people had loved her at first sight, men had fallen for her in droves--one of the reasons why her marriage to Sarah's father hadn't lasted. But she'd never really been her mother. Her phone conversations were always about which play she was in, or what party she was going to, or what part she was up for, and could Sarah please wait until Christmas and then they'd see if there was time for her to come visit? It made her a little sad to think that this lovely butterfly of a woman was gone, but she did not feel overwhelmed with grief as she thought she should have.

"Even the animals loved her," said her agent, inclining his head toward a nearby tree. Sarah glanced that way and saw, up in the branches, a snowy white owl watching the proceedings. It turned its head toward her and ruffled its feathers, and she felt the weight of its dark gaze on her as she approached the casket and laid a single red rose on top of it. After everyone had left, except for her and Richard, her mother's manager, she looked up at the tree again. It was still there, watching her.

"Your mother left you some things," Richard said, and she reluctantly turned back to him. "She told me once that she was glad she'd had a daughter, so that she could leave you her things. She knew you'd appreciate them."

Her things consisted of about thirty thousand dollars, and a collection of dresses, jewelry, and costumes she'd kept from the shows she'd been in. Sarah wasn't sure what to do with the money. She had her own apartment, and her salary was enough for her to live on. There wasn't anything she needed, either, so she put the money in the bank and figured it would keep until a rainy day. The clothes she went through, choosing some to keep and some to give away to various charities that would benefit from auctioning off her mother's things. Some of the jewelry she kept, as well, a pair of silver earrings, some hair combs, and several lovely necklaces. The rest were also given to different charities. The costumes she donated to several different museums, one she sold to a private collector, but a few she decided to keep. She wasn't sure why, but the flowing princess skirts, and bodices reminded her of her dreams, and so she carefully put them away, in sealed bags, so they wouldn't get dirty or damaged. One in particular she'd almost tried on, it was a beautiful white dress, with huge puffed sleeves, and silver and gold lace and trim all over it. The skirt was huge. It was her mother's wedding dress, from the play version of "Beauty and the Beast," and Sarah's breath had caught when she'd seen it. She remembered the conversation with her mother, when she'd told her of an "idea" she'd had for a wedding dress, and her mother had laughed and said that she was going to borrow the idea for her play. It was perfect, an almost  
exact replica of her dream dress, and as she stroked the skirt with trembling fingers she could almost hear the music playing around her.

* * *

She did not sleep much, during those weeks following the funeral, and when she did she did not dream. It wasn't until her bereavement leave was over and she was back in school, once again caught up in the schedule of classes and homework and disobedient pre-teens that she finally shook off the insomnia. It had been a long day, and when she'd come home, she'd showered and put on a silk robe, made herself a cup of tea, and curled up in a chair to read for a bit before bed. She'd been reading an obscure old text on the warring Faery Courts and comparing it to several modern novels, but she found herself flipping through the yellowed pages absently. She paused on a page with an illustration of a crystal sphere, and stopped to read the text there. 

It concerned the Labyrinth, she found, surprised, and used it as an example of the Fae's love of games and challenges. It described how those who would venture into the Labyrinth often found it conforming to their own dreams and fears, for the Goblin King was adept at reading these and using it to his advantage. Ironically, those who sought the solution to the Labyrinth often created their own puzzle, and so pitting themselves against it was much like pitting themselves against themselves. What further amazed her was the mention that those who ventured into the Labyrinth did so alone, and made their journey alone, for there could be nothing in the Labyrinth that would help them, since all of its inhabitants were loyal only to their King. How, then, had she convinced Hoggle, Ludo, and Didymus to be loyal to her, if their loyalty was so solid, she wondered. Perhaps, she thought, it was only that no one else had ever tried to befriend those within the Labyrinth.

The light in the room was dim, and Sarah found herself blinking stupidly at the book, where it lay on the floor. It must have slid off the arm of the chair, she thought, sleepily. Outside, a storm was brewing, and lightning flickered in the distance, through the windows. She stood up and stretched, then took her tea cup into the kitchen, rinsed it out, and put it aside to drain. She turned out the lights in the living room, and stood at the window for a moment, letting the breeze cool her face.

The sound of pages flipping startled her, and she turned around quickly.

He lounged in the chair she'd been sitting in earlier, one slender booted leg hooked over the arm of the chair, flipping through the book she'd dropped. The moonlight caught in his wild mess of hair, and touched his black clothing with silver. Idly, he tapped one of the pages with a gloved finger before looking up at her with a smirk.

"Come, come," he said, "don't tell me you didn't mean it, again." His voice was low, with a hint of gravel in it, the accent clipped and sharp. She closed her mouth, where it hung open, and wrapped her arms around herself, realizing that she was woefully underdressed for this  
meeting.

"What," she said, when she found her voice. "What didn't I mean?"

"You wished I'd let you be my friend," he said, somehow making it sound sarcastic. "As if I needed any. But as I'm bound to honor your wishes, here I am." He inclined his head mockingly, and regarded the book again. "My, my," he murmured, "they do make me out to be quite the monster."

"Not all of them," she said, and wondered vaguely whether she should approach him or stay where she was. He was not threatening her, or trying to intimidate, yet she felt curiously loathe to move closer, as if that might be inviting his attack. She wasn't sure she was awake, she could be dreaming, but it felt real enough that she wasn't quite willing to trust it. It was hard to know whether her dreams were ever entirely her own, anyhow.

"No?" He said, looking at her again with those curious eyes. He didn't move, but his body was tensed for it, she could see it in the way the muscles of his thighs flexed beneath the tight breeches, and in the line of his back.

"No," she said, and she did move, then, but not towards him. Instead she crossed to the bookshelves that lined the wall, and pulled a slender book from the shelf. When she turned back, he was standing quite close behind her, and she jumped a little, then forced herself to relax. She held out the book and he took it without touching her. His eyes shone in the moonlight. He opened the book, and the pages fell open to the spot she'd marked with a ribbon placed between the pages. He read it quickly, flipping the next few pages faster than any mortal could read. At one point he snorted indelicately, then a hint of a smile played about his expressive lips. Abruptly he snapped the book shut and took a step toward her. She moved back, only to find herself pressed against the bookshelf, and he came forward again, reaching out to place the book back in its spot, his arm cutting off her exit. "No," he said, so close to her she could feel his breath against her cheek, and she caught herself staring at his mouth, at the way his lips moved, and the glitter of his sharp, white teeth. "Not all of them," he murmured, and the hand that had replaced the book stroked her damp hair away from her face gently.

Then he was back in the chair without warning, lounging insolently once again and smirking a little as she shakily came to sit on the couch across from him. "What do you mean," she asked, her mouth dry, "'bound to honor' my wishes?"

"You know very well what I mean," he mocked. "One of your 'rewards' for defeating me. An unending supply of wishes. It seems I'm your slave whether I win or lose."

"I don't want you to be my slave," she said.

"Oh, you don't?" He went very still, only his eyes moving as he searched her face. "You spurned my offer to be your slave once before, as I recall. You're wiser, now, I think. Of course, neither you, nor I have much choice in the matter." His voice was bitter and sharp.

"I don't need a slave," she said. "I need..."

"A friend?" he mocked. "You've got a treacherous dwarf, an addle brained dog, and a stupid beast, not to mention them." He motioned with one gloved hand, and she saw several small, grotesque heads dart quickly back into hiding. "Why would you ever want me when you've usurped the goodwill of my entire kingdom?"

"If you're done being insulting," she said.

"If you wish," he smiled coldly, and folded his hands across his flat stomach. He was so beautiful, she thought, so wild and fey, so dangerous. What was she playing at?

"I just thought you might like someone to talk to, now and then," she said lamely.

"Why would I want that? I've an entire kingdom of subjects who will talk to me whenever I damn well please. And what could we have in common to discuss? The weather?" Again, he smirked.

"Well, what do you talk to the goblins about, then?" she countered.

"I--," he paused, then narrowed his eyes and shut his mouth so quickly she heard his teeth click together. "Clever girl." Abruptly he got up and paced over to the window, the moonlight and lightning illuminating his hair and turning it into a halo of silver and gold around his head. Quietly, she came up beside him, and watched the lightning play on the horizon. The trees rustled softly in the breeze, the leaves glittered in the pale moonlight, and somewhere in the darkness below her window she heard a goblin teasing a cat. When she glanced up she was in time to see him wince as the goblin knocked over a trash can and the cat went screeching off into the night. "It looks like rain," he observed sardonically.

"Yes," she said and watched him as he passed a gloved hand over his face. He looked at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. His eyes really were incredible, she thought, feeling suddenly exposed in her thin silk robe. What did one do when one was friends with a Fae Lord? "Are you thirsty?" she asked, uncertain. He smiled a little, a predatory sort of smile.

"Absolutely parched," he said, his eyes on her lips. She bit the lower one nervously.

"I have tea," she said, "how do you take yours?" She started to turn away, but he put out a hand and touched her hair gently, rubbing a lock of it between gloved fingers.

"Black," he said, "with lemon." Then he released her and turned back to the window. She stepped backward slowly, then turned and went to the small kitchen, watching him from the corner of her eye as she did. He did not move the entire time she poured the tea and sliced the lemon, and set the cup and lemon on a saucer. When she approached, however, he turned, his face expressionless again, and took the cup and saucer from her graciously, without touching her again. "Thank you," he said, and she nodded quickly, then faced the window to watch the lightning again, inexplicably embarrassed at the idea of watching him drink. It seemed such a private thing, all of a sudden, so intimate, to drink tea in another person's presence. They stood that way, for a while, watching the storm grow closer, and when she heard the cup clink down on the saucer, she turned to him and accepted the empty cup and plate he handed her. This time, he watched her as she went back to the kitchen, rinsed his cup and threw away the lemon, and then returned to the living room.

"Is it so difficult?" she asked, smoothing her hands over her robe and regarding him carefully. "Being my friend?"

"Oh, no," he said. "It's a piece of cake." She smiled, and the corners of his mouth twitched, which made her laugh. He looked surprised then, and then laughed as well, a full bodied laugh that sent shivers all the way to her toes. He held out his hand and she placed hers in it. He raised it to his lips, and brushed them over her fingers, a smile playing around his mouth. "Goodnight," he said, "my friend." And then he was gone, and she was left with the sensation of his mouth on her skin once again.

* * *

_Author's Note: Thank you so very much to everyone who has reviewed this so far. As I said, I don't usually write fan fiction, so a little encouragement keeps me at it. Also, I do not want this to reek so badly that even the Bog of Stench would throw it back, so please, tell me if it starts to smell funny. For those of you who were looking for Jareth, I hope this will satisfy your tastes for now. I'm trying my best to keep all characters in character (which is easier with Jareth, but really hard to do with Sarah. I'm beginning to understand why so many people write her so badly, she's hard to capture, but well worth it when you can). I'm still working on this, never fear, but my updates will be sporadic, based on whether or not I actually have internet access and a working computer. Again, thank you, and please, keep reading and reviewing. _


	6. What's Said

_Author's Note: The characters of Jareth, Sarah, Toby, Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, etc. belong to the wonderful Jim Henson company, and I claim no rights to them. The goblins are another story, but any resemblance to any real goblins, living or (while improbable) dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional... except for Shove, because he wouldn't leave me alone until I put him in the story._

* * *

Concentrating at work was difficult. She would be in the middle of a lecture on Shakespearean comedies, and suddenly find herself staring out the window, and the students all whispering and eyeing her as if she'd suddenly grown a second head. Every time it happened, she'd laugh a little, and blush and turn back to the lesson, firmly reminding herself to pay attention. In the halls and the bathrooms, in the notes passed between classes and under desks, in the teacher's lounge and the administration offices, the rumor spread: Miss Williams was in love. There was speculation about who the gentleman (or lady--claimed those who pointed out that they'd never seen her with a man) was, and many of the single male teachers suddenly found themselves being eyed carefully when they were around her. But they never talked to her for long, for despite how pretty she was, something about her made men very uncomfortable, as though a large linebacker was looming just behind him the entire time he was talking to her, waiting to plant a fist in his skull.

Sarah, herself, was mostly oblivious to the rumors. But the goblins heard and whispered among themselves, and what they whispered traveled both aboveground and under, and eventually it reached the ears of her friends, who were concerned.

"Sarah," said Hoggle, his bushy eyebrows drawn into a frown, "the goblins are saying you're in love with the King."

"Nonsense," she said, but she blushed a little. "I just asked him to be my friend. That's all."

"Why would you want to go and do a thing like that? This is Jareth, we're talking about. His royal wretchedness isn't the friendly sort, Sarah."

"Indeed, milady," Didymus said, "Why wouldst a fair maiden wish to befriend such a loathsome villain?"

"He's not loathsome," she said sternly. "He's just lonely. And he might be a villain, but that doesn't mean he doesn't deserve to have a friend."

"Sarah good," Ludo said, nodding his great shaggy head. "Friend good." She smiled.

"I know it's hard to understand, but, I need him, too, Hoggle."

"What, we're not good enough anymore?" He said, turning away.

"It's not that," she said. "But we're bound together, in some way, by what happened. Isn't it better to be friends rather than enemies?"

"Wisely spoken, milady," Didymus agreed, "but art thou sure of him?"

"No," she admitted. "But I'm willing to try. I think he needs me, even more than I need him. And I turned away from him once. I won't hurt him again." Hoggle only snorted. He still feared the King. But Didymus seemed content.

"Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful, fair maiden," he said, and tactfully changed the subject.

* * *

At night she still dreamed, and in her dreams she wandered the Labyrinth, exploring hedge mazes, and long corridors with invisible turnings. She wandered through sandy tunnels lined with giant stone faces, and through lush forests that glittered in the dappled light. In all of her dreams, she walked unhurried, following whichever path seemed most likely, but not much caring where she went. Along her path, goblins peered out of cracks and over walls and through leaves at her, and sometimes they bowed to her, as if she were someone worth bowing to. Then she would glance around and see him standing off to the side, or a little ways behind her, or just in the shadow of a tree. His eyes watched her curiously, but he did not speak, and she didn't break the silence either.

One night, as she wandered through the forest, she paused and saw him standing a little way ahead of her, leaning against a tree, with his arms folded. For the first time, she walked up to him and when he made no move to speak, she reached out and took his hand. The cool leather of his glove was soft in her palm, and he allowed her to pull him forward a little, until he was walking beside her. She did not let go of his hand, for fear that he would stop, or break the dream, and he did not try to pull away. Together they walked through the forest, her soft shoes making no noise, and the long tails of his coat rustling a bit over the fallen leaves. Neither of them spoke, but after a time she found that he was leading her, and she was following, and then she would see something that she wanted to look at more closely and she'd tug on his hand a little and he'd follow her.

The light in the forest began to grow dim, and little twinkling lights began to flit among the trees. He stopped, and she stopped with him, and they stood there for a long time, as the woods filled with fairies. They flickered among the trees and through the grass, and Sarah thought it was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen, until she glanced up at his face to find him watching her in the fairy light. His eyes were very dark, and his face unreadable, and she was suddenly terribly aware of his presence beside her, and of every point of contact between them. Her breath came more quickly, and she felt her heartbeat speed up. He turned her hand over in his, so he could study her palm, and the gloved fingers smoothed over her wrist, sending shivers up her spine. The fairy lights spun around them, growing brighter and brighter, and he lifted her upturned hand to his mouth, smiled a secret little smile, and kissed her palm.

She came awake in a blaze of desire, to find her bed empty, her sheets tangled around her legs, and her palm tingling like mad. She flopped back against the pillows, frustrated, and ran her other hand through her hair. Light was streaming through her windows, and it was with a groan of frustration she remembered that today she was to drive up to visit Toby and her folks.

"Damn it, Jareth," she muttered, and got up and turned the shower on, cold.

* * *

Toby was nearly ten, and he was as mischievous as ever, but he'd stopped talking about his invisible friends. She wondered about it, at first, until her stepmother had left to finish dinner and her father had retreated to his office and it was just the two of them, sitting on the couch. Toby glanced around, then looked up at her seriously and a little nervously.

"Do you see Deeb anywhere?" He asked. And Sarah glanced around to find Deeb sitting on the back of an armchair, picking apart one of her stepmother's furniture throws.

"Get down from there," she told Deeb, and he grinned and stuck out his tongue, but he did get down and scurried over to sit on the floor at her feet.

He looked up at Toby, cocked his head to the side and said, "We play?"

Toby looked relieved. "Yeah," he said, "in a minute." He turned to Sarah, "I was worried that you couldn't see them, that you'd just been making it up. But you DO see them, don't you?"

"All the time," she said and smiled down at his earnest little face.

"Why doesn't anyone else see them?" He asked, and she hesitated for a minute.

"Because," she said, finally, "we're special."

"But why?" Toby said.

"King likes you, he does," said Deeb, surprising them both. Deeb nodded his head frantically, his ears flapping. "King likes you. King gave present. See us folk. For you, Toby."

"But why can Sarah see them?" Toby asked.

"Because what nobody know," said Sludge, crawling out from under the couch to join his friend. "What nobody know is King loved the girl, and gave her powers."

Sarah's heart skipped a beat and she went a little pale. Toby looked at her curiously, then made a face. "Love, yuck. Let's go play." He said, and the three of them whooped their way out of the house and into the yard.

* * *

In the kitchen, her stepmother was making a pie. She motioned Sarah to sit and put a bowl in front of her, filled with peaches.

"Can you peel and slice these for me?" she asked and handed her a knife. The peaches were ripe and in the sunlight they looked golden and decadent. Sarah picked one up and put the knife to it, and only then noticed how badly her hand was trembling.

"Sarah?" her stepmother said, " are you alright?"

"I'm... fine. I just don't care for peaches," she said and put the knife down. The peach mocked her.

"Oh for heaven's sakes, girl," her stepmother said and took the bowl away and handed her a bowl of peas instead. "I take it you don't have any prejudices against shelling peas?" Sarah smiled wanly.

"Not at all," she said, and set to work.

"Will you be coming to the Halloween party?"

"Party?"

"The Masquerade Ball your father's company is throwing. It's a strictly formal affair, not that you'd mind that of course, you're always dying for a reason to get dressed up in a fancy gown." Sarah bit her tongue to keep herself from retorting that she hadn't worn a "fancy gown" in years. "But you'll need a date. It just wouldn't do for you to come alone. There's this nice boy who works in your father's office that's single and about your age, I'm sure if I talked to him--"

"I have a date," she said, without thinking, and then immediately regretted it.

"You do? I knew you'd met someone! Leslie, down at the supermarket, told me that she'd talked to Ruth, she teaches History at the school, you know Ruth, and she said she'd heard a rumor that you were seeing someone at the school. Oh, who is it? Is he handsome?" Sarah wanted to sink through the floor. She hated being talked about, and it bothered her that a rumor had reached her stepmother. She heard a noise and glanced over by the refrigerator in time to see Sludge nudging the bowl of peaches towards the edge of the counter. The bowl was bigger than he was, and filled with peaches it was much heavier, but that never deterred goblins. He pushed steadily, and as if in a trance, Sarah found herself answering her stepmother.

"Yes, he's very handsome," she said.

"Well, what does he look like? Honestly, Sarah, you're like a steel trap with secrets."

"He's tall, blonde..." Sludge had gotten the bowl to the edge of the counter and was straining against it.

"And does Mr. Mysterious have a name?" A little further.

"Jareth," she said, and then with a mighty heave the bowl fell over the edge of the counter, shattering on the floor and splattering peach juice all over the tile.


	7. Trust

_Author's Note: The characters of Jareth, Sarah, Toby, Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, etc. belong to the wonderful Jim Henson company, and I claim no rights to them. The goblins are another story, but any resemblance to any real goblins, living or (while improbable) dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional... except for Shove, because he wouldn't leave me alone until I put him in the story._

* * *

She didn't dare fall asleep that night, she was too embarrassed and worried about what he might have heard. It was stupid, stupid of her to have said that to her stepmother, and she'd now be expected to attend, not only with a date, but with a tall blonde one as well. Unfortunately, with one rather notable exception, she didn't know any tall, incredibly handsome, blonde men, let alone one that would be willing to be her date to a masquerade ball. Most guys wouldn't even be her date to McDonald's she thought wretchedly. She drank eight cups of strong coffee, and paced her apartment, fidgeting and agitated, most of the night, and when she became absolutely desperate to stay awake, she pulled everything out of the refrigerator and scrubbed it down mercilessly until it shone. The goblins watched her with amusement, and she finally snapped at them to leave her in peace, while she growled at the vegetable drawer.

The next day she was tired and cranky, and the dark shadows under her eyes didn't help, because everyone who saw them had to stop and ask her if she was okay. "I'm fine," she would say wearily, and sometimes not so wearily, if they pressed her. Her thoughts kept running in circles, chasing each other.

The way she saw it, she had three options, none of them good: she could not go (which would mean her stepmother would hound her for months about it afterward), she could go alone and lie (which still meant her stepmother would be hounding her), or she could get down on her knees and beg the King of the Goblins to take her to her father's company party, where he would be forced to make small talk with business men, while the businessmen's wives tried to pry every secret out of him they could get. There was a fourth option, she knew, but it was one that she refused to entertain. She could wish him to take her to the ball... but that smacked of entrapment or enslavement, and she refused to do such a thing. She'd rather have her stepmother after her.

Her classes passed in a daze, and by the end of the afternoon she found she'd bitten her nails down to the tips of her fingers, and she was walking wearily. Still, when she got home she made another pot of coffee, and then started hunting for Shove. She knew he was there, the little goblin had never been far from her since that afternoon in the library, and the fact that she was forever picking her pencils up off the floor was proof enough that he was still around. She found him sleeping behind the books on her bookshelf, and she nudged him awake.

"I need a favor," she said, and he opened one eye and stared at her. "I need you to go find out what the goblins are saying in the castle about me."

"No thanks," he said, and closed his eye again.

"Shove," she said and poked him again, "I mean it. Please go find out for me." He swore at her, but he disappeared the way goblins did, in a silent little poof that happened between one blink and the next. He returned sooner than she'd expected, and crawled up on her knee to sniff experimentally at her coffee mug. She'd put too much sugar in, so it tasted foul, but he grinned with delight and stuck his fingers in it, and then sucked them clean. "Well?" she asked.

"Goblins say. Say Lady make good pie," Shove told her and then began to laugh so hard that he fell off her knee and bounced on the floor. He rolled around for a bit, chortling and snickering, until Sarah gave up and went to the kitchen to empty her mug into the sink.

"No more coffee for you," she muttered under her breath.

She went and took a cold shower, and then, because she had nothing better to do, and she still wasn't sure if she could face him, even the dream of him, she sat in the armchair and stared at the clock as it ticked toward midnight. Every now and then she'd start to nod off, but, with a jerk, she'd wake herself back up. Would he think she was throwing herself at him? Or would he think she was just impertinent? Would he say she was desperate? Or would he merely mock her for lying? She didn't even know why she'd said it in the first place, except for being tired of her stepmother's prying, and the rumor mills talking about her, and those damned peaches.

"Get up, you stupid girl, and go to bed," he said, and she jerked awake to find him standing over her. Impatience was written on every plane of his expressive face, and he stood with his hands planted on his hips in a pose that brooked no argument. She stood up obediently, but swayed a little when she did, and with a sigh of exasperation, he bent down and swung her up into his arms as if she weighed no more than a child. She stiffened, but she was too tired to argue, and she couldn't remember the last time someone had carried her. Her head was against his shoulder, and he felt surprisingly comfortable. She'd always thought his thinness was to the point of boniness, but a very feminine part of her was pleasantly surprised to feel hard muscle in his chest and shoulders. He strode to her bedroom, and the door swung open for him. Like magic, she thought tiredly. God, but he was warm. She snuggled closer to him, knowing he was about to deposit her unceremoniously in her bed but wanting to make this moment last. Only he didn't. Instead he stopped and stared down at her in frustration, and his hair brushed over her face like a curtain.

She tried to stay awake, but her eyelids were so heavy, she couldn't keep them open. "I didn't mean anything by it," she said, turning her face so that it rested in the hollow between his throat and his shoulder.

"What's said is said, now go to sleep. You've wasted half the night already, princess," he growled in her ear, holding her tightly for a moment before laying her on the bed and tucking the blankets around her.

"Don't go," she murmured, turning her face to the pillow. He said nothing, but she felt him sit down on the bed beside her, and stroke a gloved hand over her hair, and then she was asleep.

The dream was waiting for her. They were dancing, again. One of his hands was wrapped around her waist, and the other was holding hers firmly. He led, and she followed, step for step, turn for turn. Her dress swirled around her. Together, they spun across the floor, to the stairs, and then somehow they were dancing up the stairs, but her feet didn't trip, she simply allowed him to lead, and she followed. When they reached the top they spun together, and his hand tightened at her waist. His eyes were focused intently on her, but there was a hint of a smile playing around his lips, as though he were up to something. Her eyes never left his, and so she didn't falter at all, when suddenly they were dancing through the Endless Corridor.

The walls here were brick, and the Corridor seemed to stretch ahead of them until forever, but she knew it was only an illusion. Together they danced down the Corridor, and although the weeds were choking the ground here, she never once tripped as he led her carefully around the obstacles, without ever loosing the beat of the music. He suddenly spun her toward what looked to be a solid brick wall, but she didn't flinch away from it, and then they were through it to the other side.

The walls here were made of stone blocks, and laid out in an elaborate maze. Dizzy, she followed him down one path, then another, not caring where they led, for his hands were steady, and his feet sure, and she knew all she had to do was let him show her the way.

Then they were past the stone maze and in the hedge maze, and she stepped closer, breathing in the scent of him, his steps slowed a little, but he did not let go of her, and she gave herself up to the dance. The hedges flew past, becoming the dark forest where she'd met the Wild Gang, and she could sense them, off in the trees, following alongside of them. He held her tighter, and spun her again, quickly, and her nose wrinkled as she realized he was dancing her over Didymus's bridge, and the Bog was beneath them.

The smell was almost overwhelming, and the footing on the bridge was treacherous, but he never once slipped, so neither did she. Her gaze was locked with his, and his beautiful mismatched eyes held something like awe, as her feet trusted him to lead them. When they were across, he spun her into the Place of Lost Things, and all around her were piles and piles of things she'd once loved. Her teddy bears, and toys, her costumes crumpled and tossed negligently among everything else, her first bike, her father's jacket, her mother's jewelry, music boxes and movie posters, books and board games, her first car, her scrapbooks, everything mixed together, tossed aside like so much junk. She paid no attention to it, because that's all it was, was junk, and she had more important things to do, like feeling the press of his hips against hers as he pulled her closer still, and watching his lips part slightly, to reveal his sharp white teeth.

With a low growl, he spun her again, out of the Place of Lost Things and into the Goblin City, where goblins and chickens scattered before them, and the streets were narrow and crooked. All she could feel was his hands on her, all she could see was his blue, blue eyes, and the way his fine blonde hair played in the wind. Her feet belonged to him, her arms to him, her whole being belonged to him, and so when they were suddenly dancing up the stairs, into the castle, through the throne room, and into the heart of the Labyrinth, she didn't let go when the world was abruptly turned upside down. There was no ceiling, no floor, only endless tangles of stairs and doorways; no up or down, just where their feet landed, and if he felt like dancing over the edge of the floor to to the floor on the other side, she was willing to let him take her there.

Up stairs and down stairs, over edges, through doors, they danced as if there were no obstacles in their way. And the obstacles fell away until there was nothing but the small floor they were standing on, floating in the void, and the world had gone soft around the edges. He pulled her to him, and she rested her head on his shoulder again, listening to his heart race. Slower and slower came the steps, until there was no music left to play, and no more steps to be taken.

They stayed like that for an eternity, but even an eternity seemed too short, because it ended with the light growing brighter around her, until daylight was streaming through the window, and she was back in her bed with the alarm going off beside her.

Her head was still on his shoulder.


	8. Awakening

_Author's Note: The characters of Jareth, Sarah, Toby, Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, etc. belong to the wonderful Jim Henson company, and I claim no rights to them. The goblins are another story, but any resemblance to any real goblins, living or (while improbable) dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional... except for Shove, because he wouldn't leave me alone until I put him in the story._

* * *

In sleep his face lost much of its sharpness but none of its strange beauty. His eyelashes were dark and thick where they fanned over his impossibly high cheekbones, his upswept brows relaxed, his lips slightly parted. He was so beautiful. He was holding her, one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her to him, and it suddenly occurred to her how very male he felt. His muscles, even in sleep were solidly there beneath her head and under her hand where it rested on his chest. His white shirt was open to the bottom of his sternum, and she slowly slid her hand under it, until it was resting over his heart. His hips were bony, but his thighs were tightly corded with muscle, and she suspected he was much, much stronger than he looked. He smelled of leather, and spices, and magic, and she had to bite her lip to resist the urge to lean over and taste his skin, to know if he tasted as good as he smelled.

She'd never had a man in her bed before, and certainly never a King. What was the proper etiquette here? Did she wake him up and demand he leave (that is, if she wanted him to), or did she pretend to go back to sleep and let him decide how to handle it when he woke? Only that wouldn't work, because she needed to get up and shower, or she would be late.

Carefully, she tried to wriggle out of his grasp without waking him, but his arm was tight around her and all she succeeded in doing was rousing him a little. He made a low, protesting growl in the back of his throat, and drew her even more firmly against him, rolling to face her, and wrapping his other arm around her, his gloved fingers twining in her hair. This new position left absolutely no doubt in her mind that he was, in fact, very, very male and that she was very, very female, and even if he wasn't awake, his body was more than aware of her. Her face was buried against the column of his throat, and she wasn't sure which was softer, the silk collar of the shirt he wore, his silken hair, or his silky skin. No human had skin like that, she thought. But then, no human had eyes like he did, or the ability to pull dreams out of thin air. She almost laughed to herself, it was no wonder she was disinterested in most men, they were just so human.

She felt him wake up. One moment, he was snuggled tightly against her, his face in her hair, relaxed; and the next he'd gone incredibly still. His heart sped up. His breathing stopped for a moment, then resumed, a little shallower than before. He didn't move away, though, just held her against him, and the fingers in her hair caressed it gently.

"Jareth," she whispered.

"Mmmm?" He purred.

"I have to get up. I have to go to work. I wish I didn't have to, but...," she caught herself. "You don't have to grant that," she said quickly, "I didn't mean..."

"You say that so often about your wishes. You should be more careful, if you don't want them to come true." His voice was low and sarcastic, and it made her push away, or try to, anyway, but his arms were like steel around her, and she couldn't move. "Besides," he said, more softly, "it's already done. Look." He allowed her to raise her head enough that she could see the window.

"That's impossible!" she said, trying to sit up, but he pulled her back down beside him, and tucked her head beneath his chin. Over his shoulder, she could still see the impossible snow falling thickly outside. "It doesn't snow in October," she said.

"Apparently," he said dryly, " it does. I think I can say with absolute certainty, that there will be no work for you today." His fingers traced lazy patterns over the small of her back, and she shivered at the sensation. No one had ever touched her in such a way, nor could she ever remember being held quite so intimately. It seemed strange, but right, somehow, that it should be him. His fingers were long and thin, and he stroked them delicately up her spine. She trembled. "Frightened?" he asked, and she could tell he was smiling that predatory smile again just from the lilt of his voice.

"No," she said. He chuckled, and the sound traveled through his body to hers, making her ache. He drew back enough that he could see her face, his fingers making small, light circles over her spine. He was smiling, somewhat smugly, and although he was holding her gently, he still managed to look arrogant and cruel. "Please," she said, "I don't want to argue."

"Oddly enough," he said, "neither do I." The smile slipped away, and his eyes darkened dangerously. She opened her mouth to say something, but he silenced her by pressing his lips to hers for the first time. She knew she wasn't dreaming this time, because even in her dreams, it hadn't felt like this. She could taste him and he tasted... like chocolate and peaches and blood red roses. He tasted of cool winds through dark forests, and of high glittering waterfalls. He tasted of everything decadent and delicious and dangerous. He tasted forbidden, and she drank it in deeply, filling herself with it. Parts of her soul that had longed for a taste of the Underground again were filled with the sensation of his lips against hers, soft as velvet. His tongue parted her lips, and he tasted her even more deeply. She felt, more than heard, him growl with need, pulling her under him, until she was pinned to the bed, and the whole length of him was holding her there. His hands clenched to fists in her shirt as he held her tightly, plundering her mouth, claiming it for his own. His teeth, which were very sharp, nipped at her lip, making her whimper into his mouth. Was there ever a feeling more glorious than being kissed, she wondered, completely forgetting any other kiss that had come before. None of them could touch this one. None of them had made her whole body come alight, as though someone had just flipped a switch within her, turning on every nerve ending she possessed, and then tuned them into his frequency. She was aware of every inch of him that was touching her, and she knew that it wasn't enough. Her hands came up, to tug at his shoulders, and he obliged her by releasing her mouth and trailing his lips down to her jaw.

"Oh," she said, surprised, as fire blazed over her skin following his kisses from her jaw to her ear and then down her throat to where it met her shoulder. This was bliss, pure and incandescent, and she wanted to drown in it. Nevermind that he was not human, nevermind that he was only truly kind to her in dreams, nevermind the games and the tests and arrogance and the past. All that mattered was here, now, in her bed, in his arms, with his mouth teaching her things she'd never truly known she'd been craving until that moment. She wanted it to go on forever.

Then the doorbell rang.

They both froze.

It rang again. He lifted his head and, shuddering, ran a hand through his hair.

Someone knocked on the door, loudly.

"Sarah!" she heard, a bit muffled through the door. "Sarah, it's your stepmother! I know you're home, your car's out front! Let me in, I'm freezing out here!"

"Dammit," she groaned, and he rolled off of her enough that she could wriggle away from his warmth. She quickly brushed her hands through her hair, pulled on her robe over her pajamas, and then froze, looking at him.

He was lounging on the bed, looking perfectly neat and tidy, as though he'd not just spent a night sleeping in his clothing. And he was smirking.

"Well," he said. "Don't be rude. It is awfully cold outside." She cringed a little, knowing that it was, in a way, her fault. The pounding on the door resumed, and giving him a last, pleading look, begging him silently to stay where he was, she left the room and closed the door behind her.

She opened the front door, and a gust of wind caught it and slammed it open, huge white snowflakes swirling into the room. Her stepmother brushed past her, shivering and bouncing a little to warm herself. Sarah quickly pushed the door closed and locked it, then turned. Karen was brushing snow from her light jacket and stamping her feet, trying to warm them up.

"What took you so long? Have you ever seen anything like this? Snow in October! On the radio they were saying it was some freak storm, it was raining before and then the temperature just dropped forty degrees! I was on my way to go shopping with Rachel--you know Rachel, don't you Sarah? She runs the Women's Club--and I figured I'd stop by here and borrow some warmer clothes. Well for heaven's sake girl, turn on the heater and see if you've got anything in my size, will you? What is wrong with you?"

Sarah stood, frozen. In order to find her stepmother clothes, she'd have to go back in the bedroom, and... oh, it was too horrible to contemplate.

"Why don't I make you some coffee first," she said, stalling, "to warm you up."

"That would be lovely dear, but I'd rather be dry. Tell you what, you go make the coffee and I'll raid your closet. I should be able to squeeze into something of yours, maybe a sweater..." She headed for the bedroom door.

"No!" Sarah blocked her path, putting her back to the door and holding the knob before Karen could turn it. She blushed when her stepmother gave her a penetrating glance. "I mean, let me, I... I know where everything is."

"What are you hiding?" The look on Karen's face was all too familiar, and Sarah knew things had just gone from bad to worse.

"Nothing," she lied, rather lamely. The door suddenly swung open behind her, and she stumbled backward into a pair of strong arms. He caught her easily, and steadied her, then leaned down and said low in her ear, "Nothing, hmmm?"

"Steady, darling," he said, a little louder, then turned to Karen, who stood stock still, her mouth open and eyes wide with surprise. "You must be Sarah's wicked stepmother," he said, disarmingly. "You don't look wicked at all." Karen shook her head, blinked, and then closed her mouth with a snap. The change that came over her then was incredible. Her eyes widened, she licked her lips and smiled sweetly, her hips shifted forward, her shoulders shifted back, and she laughed a sparkling little laugh.

"And you must be Jareth," she said, and Sarah turned to look at the man standing beside her in amazement. Gone were the tight breeches and flowing shirts, gone the high collared leather vest. He wore a fitted black leather jacket over a black button down shirt that gaped open at the neck enough to show that amazing skin of his, straight legged black slacks, and black shoes. The clothes fit so well they looked tailor made, and by a very expensive tailor at that. His wild blond hair was shorter now, still a bit wild on top, but in a normal, tousled, human way. The rest of it was trimmed close, making his throat look very long and masculine. The discoloration around his eyes and nose that marked him as fey was gone as well, his eyebrows were more human shaped, and his teeth were white, yes, but not so sharp looking. His face, as a whole, was a little fuller, not quite so sharp in its planes, but still gorgeous none-the-less. He glanced at her, briefly, and she saw that his eyes were still mismatched, with the one dark eye and the one bright blue, but it was harder to notice in this human face. What was most disconcerting to her was not that he looked human, but that she could see partially through the glamour that he'd cast over himself, and see him as he really was beneath it. This double vision, of the human male superimposed over the Fae Lord, made her blink, until her eyes settled and got used to it. He twitched an eyebrow at her, then smiled at Karen again, and put out a black leather gloved hand and shook hers.

"Madam, you're freezing," he said. "Why don't you have a seat here at the table, and I'll put on a pot of coffee while Sarah finds you something to wear, hmmm?" He led her to the kitchen table, and pulled out a chair for her, which she accepted gratefully, as though he were a prince come to her rescue.

"Sarah never told me how charming you were," she said, and Jareth smirked at Sarah from over her stepmother's head.

"Oh, she didn't?" he laughed, a little coldly, Sarah thought, but Karen never noticed.

"Er... the coffee is in the..." she said, wondering if he knew how to use a coffee maker.

"Second cabinet on the right, dearest. I remember. I am fully capable of making a pot of coffee. Now go find your stepmother some clothes, and I'll take care of the rest."

* * *

_Author's Note: Once again, thanks so much for all the reviews and encouragement. I hope this satisfies those of you who were craving some mushy bits, and some dialogue. I've written more, but there's two different possibilities for what happens next, and I'm still wavering between the two... so this is where I'll leave you for a bit. Don't worry, though, there's still more to come. _


	9. Torture

* * *

_Author's Note: The characters of Jareth, Sarah, Toby, Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, etc. belong to the wonderful Jim Henson company, and I claim no rights to them. The goblins are another story, but any resemblance to any real goblins, living or (while improbable) dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional... except for Shove, because he wouldn't leave me alone until I put him in the story._

_

* * *

_Like an android, she turned and went into her bedroom. The bed was a little mussed, she noticed, and she was sure Karen had noticed, too. Some things never escape parents. In her closet, she stood, straining to hear the conversation going on in the living room, but Jareth's voice was too low, and all she heard from her stepmother was that odd, tinkling laugh. Ten minutes ago, she thought, I was in heaven, and now I'm in hell. She rummaged through the clothes that Karen had bought her, but she'd never worn. Her stepmother was one of those people who buy clothes that would look good only on them and give them to other people. She came up with a few pairs of slacks that were too big in the hips for her, and a couple of shirts, and two sweaters she never cared if she saw again. She laid it all out on the bed, there was no helping it, and then started back for the living room. Karen laughed again, and Sarah paused, then went into the bathroom, and shut the door. She quickly brushed out her hair, washed her face, and brushed her teeth and, after a moment's consideration, put on a hint of lip gloss. It was one thing to wake up in the arms of an incredibly handsome man, and another to walk into a room where he was entertaining her still lovely stepmother looking like, well, a goblin. She tried not to think about the fact that Karen was probably closer to Jareth's age than she was, for if the books she'd read for so long were definitely talking about him, then he was old enough to be her grandfather several dozen times over.

"Pie lady," said a goblin voice, and Sarah looked down to see a head peeking out from under the sink. "Icky lady," it said, making a face as though it had just eaten something gross. "King be takin' care of her."

"Karen?" she asked it.

"Karen," another voice mocked, and Sarah looked up to find another one perched on top of the medicine cabinet. Another glance showed two or three more poking their long noses out of various hiding places.

"What are you all doing here?"

"Watchin'," said Shove, climbing up onto the counter where he inspected the tube of lip gloss to see if it might be edible. "King not come back last night, so we come here," he actually had the audacity to wink at her. Sarah blushed. "Now pie lady here," he said. "Gonna be some fun?"

"I don't know what you mean," Sarah said, worriedly.

"King not like _that_ woman. She hurt you, Lady," Shove said, rolling the lip gloss tube back and forth.

"When?" she said, confused.

"Before," he shrugged. "Always." Sarah was about to ask what he meant, when she caught her own eyes in the mirror. _Before. Always._ She thought about the last thirteen years, ever since Karen had come into her life. She thought of how much she'd disliked Karen, when she was younger, because she wasn't her mother, the mother that had abandoned her. She thought of everything she'd been through with Karen: the tough, horrible three years before Toby was born; the unpromising few months afterward; and the change their relationship had undergone after that fateful night nearly ten years ago. She thought of the teenagers she worked with, everyday, and how awful they could be. She thought of all the times she'd had to grit her teeth and keep on. She thought about the goblins, and how unmanageable they could be when they wanted to be, which was pretty much all the time. And she realized that, in spite of it all, Karen was not wicked. She was vain, and shallow, and selfish, yes. She was a horrible gossip, and awful at giving gifts. And Karen had never once really understood her--although that was not entirely Karen's fault. But she'd never really understood Karen, either.

She thought about Jareth--mercurial, capricious, cruel to be kind, spoiled rotten, Jareth--shut away, Underground, with no one but goblins for company. Goblins that probably came back and told him every time she'd cried because of some imagined wound Karen had given her, because they were bored and Goblins liked gossiping as much as Karen did.

When she burst out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, she wasn't sure what she was expecting. Karen, lying lifeless in a pool of blood, perhaps. Or Jareth at least dangling her over a pot of hot oil. What she hadn't expected was to find them both laughing, Karen cradling a steaming mug of coffee, and Jareth, lounging indolently (and still somehow regally) in his chair, an odd little smile tweaking his lips.

"Oh, she did, did she?" he said to Karen, glancing slyly at her. On his human face the expression looked teasing, but beneath the glamour, it looked predatory. She swallowed, hard, and tried on a smile.

"What are we talking about?" she asked, eyeing Karen's mug of coffee suspiciously. Jareth caught her eye again and raised his eyebrows and smirked.

"Oh, nothing," said Karen, in her flirty little girl voice. Sarah tried not to choke. It just figured that Karen would fall all over any guy Sarah might find. Not that Jareth was a "guy" or her guy, specifically. He was... was... she wasn't sure what he was. In her dreams he was attentive, and generous, kind and caring. He was the kind of man that she could, maybe, love. But that was in her dreams. In reality he was cruel and manipulative, seductive and scary, dangerous and absolutely delicious. He was exactly the kind of man that every book, every Lifetime Made for TV Movie staring Sally Fields, every advice columnist in every language, warned against. Besides, they were just friends, although that tiny voice was calling her liar again, and pointing out that friends did not do the sorts of things that Sarah had been contemplating doing half an hour ago when Jareth had been pinning her to her bed. Firmly, she pushed that thought away and went into the kitchen, hoping that some coffee would clear her head, only to find that the coffee pot was empty, and had apparently not been used since the night before since it wasn't even warm to the touch.

"I'll make you a cup as well, if you wish," he said, standing so close behind her that she jumped a little. "I suspect, however, that you would not accept it."

"Not if you put worms in your coffee, too," she said, stiffening. "Where's my stepmother?"

"Changing," he said, his voice low and his head bent a little so that she could feel his breath fluttering over the sensitive skin of her throat. "Sarah," he said, "I'm beginning to think that you don't trust me."

"Should I?" she said, acutely aware of his body so close to hers. With one gloved hand he reached out and brushed her dark hair away from her face, exposing her throat. "What have you done to earn my trust?

"Everything," he said, archly, and she remembered his words from before, when Toby's future had been at stake, and she'd been only a girl struggling to understand the enormity of the choice before her. _"I've done it all for you. I'm exhausted from living up to your expectations of me."_ She bit her lip, feeling lost, tangled in a web that was so very much bigger than she was, and so enormously complicated she could only comprehend it in bits. He had been the answer to her dreams, before: handsome, dangerous, alluring. He'd swept into her life, and done exactly what she'd wanted him to do. He'd been cruel, but she'd expected it. He'd been manipulative, but she'd wanted that. Then there were the books, the history, what she'd spent so much time learning of him. He was beautiful, powerful, dangerous. She turned to face him, studying not the glamour, but the truth beneath it, knowing that it was truth that she saw because her eyes knew the difference. His strange, mismatched eyes bore into hers, his expression carefully neutral. She could feel the heat from his body, feel his breath where it fanned over her cheek, smell the heady scent of him--he was fantasy come to life, and he was real. So very real.

She reached up a hand and touched his smooth cheek, electricity shooting through her fingertips when they came into contact with his bare skin. He flinched away, his gaze dark. "Don't toy with me, little girl," he said.

"I'm not a little girl anymore," she said, and brushed her fingers over his lips, thrilling at the velvet texture of them. He made a sound then, a growl, or a purr, she wasn't sure which, but it shivered through her to her toes.

"No," he said, the pupil in his right eye swelling until it was as large and dark as the left. He captured her wrist, and pressed his lips against her fingertips, and she knew that even if she never understood him, her body did, because it came alive at his touch. "No, you're not." He said, his lips against her fingers.

"Well, I'll just be off then," Karen's too bright voice interrupted. "As I can see that I'm only in the way here. Jareth, it was a pleasure meeting you." She pulled on a coat that Sarah hadn't remembered laying out for her, and adjusted her purse. "Sarah, you should wear that dress in your closet to the ball. The white one. It's perfect." At the look on her face, she quickly held up a hand, I needed a coat, I didn't mean to snoop, but I didn't think you'd mind if I just took a peek. Anyway," she continued blithely on, apparently not noticing that her stepdaughter was attempting to kill her with her eyes, "I must be off. Rachel's expecting me and I've already taken up too much of your time."

In a daze, Sarah walked her to the door, and let her hug her.

"Jareth, I expect to see you at the party. You should wear something fantasy-ish. Sarah's always loved handsome princes," she waved at them, and then disappeared out the door and into the impossible snow.

As if in a dream, she closed the door and leaned her forehead against it, letting the coolness of it seep into her.

"She's right, you know," he said, and she turned her head toward the sound of his voice to find him lounging in her armchair again, the glamour gone, the King returned. "You should wear the white costume. It would be perfect." He smiled again, that secret little predatory smile that set her pulse to pounding. Looking at him there, at the way he sat so regally, yet so indolently, there was so much she wanted to say. But the air between them felt charged and electric. Words between them had always been tricky things, she thought. You thought you were going down one path, but all too often you found that they led somewhere else, somewhere more dangerous. He was watching her carefully, and his smile slipped away slowly, to be replaced with a frown. He stood up and came to her, laying one gloved hand flat on the wall beside her and looming over her. He was so tall, she thought.

"Sarah," he said softly, "what is it that you want from me?"

"The truth," she said, simply. "All I know of you comes from books filled with half truths and outright lies, and from dreams. And dreams, no matter how much we might want otherwise, are seldom true."

"Actually," he said, "dreams are more than true. Especially our dreams. Although I confess, our dreams have become so hopelessly entangled that I know longer know which of us is dreaming them." She blinked, startled, and his mouth twisted wryly. Then he reached out, took her hand and turned it over in his. He traced a thumb over her wrist, and then brought her palm to his lips. Her eyes slipped closed at the touch, and she made a soft sound that caused him to smile into her palm, and then the tip of his tongue touched the hollow of her hand and her knees went weak. She leaned back against the wall for support and stared up at him hopelessly. She realized that she didn't know what she wanted, not exactly, except that she wanted him--cruel, kind, generous, manipulative, mercurial, seductive, royal pain in the arse, _Jareth_.

She didn't realize that she'd said his name aloud until he was pressing her back against the wall, and his mouth was hovering over hers, his breathing ragged. "Yes, princess?" he said. She only shook her head, mutely, and he moved until his lips were against her ear, and she was breathing in the scent of his hair, his skin, and the high collar of his leather coat. "Do you know the power of a name?" he said. "All names have power, some more than others. I should have dipped the dwarf headfirst in the Bog for telling you mine, but I find now that I'm glad I did not. Have you any idea of the power you wield over me, simply by calling my name?" Again, she shook her head. "Shall I show you, then? Hmmm, Sarah?" his lips were so close to her skin, and the way he said her name made her shiver. He turned his head a little, never once touching her, but so close she could sense the distance between them. "Sarah," he murmured against her cheekbone. "Sarah," his lips drifting over her temple. She closed her eyes, and he said her name again, his lips just brushing the tips of her eyelashes. Heat pooled in her belly, and her knees trembled. "Sarah," he said, so softly she couldn't hear it, only feel the way her name was shaped by his warm breath as it drifted over her lips. His games, she felt, were unbearable.

She leaned forward, closed the distance between them, and touched her lips to his. He growled then, and pulled her hard against him, pressing her against the wall, his tongue parting her lips to taste hers. She was drowning in him again and she wanted it. His arms were like steel around her, bruising her a little, and she didn't care. His mouth was hot and punishing, and she reveled in it. She slid her fingers into his wild hair, feeling the exquisite softness of it, and he groaned against her mouth, devouring her. He wanted her. She could feel it with every sense she had. This incredible creature, this impossible man, wanted _her_. She did not understand it, and at the moment she didn't care to. It was enough to know that he wanted her and that this wasn't a dream. She pressed against him, feeling the hard wall of his chest against her much softer one. One of his hands slipped down to her waist, and dragged her hips against his. She made a surprised sound, and he laughed roughly, feathering kisses over her cheekbones, and eyelids.

"Jareth," she said, and he kissed her again, nearly crushing her against the wall this time. His hands skimmed over her body, until he cupped her breast in his palm, and she gasped against his mouth.

"So beautiful," he murmured, "so innocent..." He suddenly trembled a little, and then pulled away enough that he could look at her. His eyes were very, very dark, and there was some emotion written on his beautiful face that she couldn't quite read. He then glanced to her left and frowned. She followed his gaze.

They were less than a few inches from her coat-rack, which held Karen's thin dripping coat that she'd been wearing when she came in. Perched atop it, eyes wide, mouth grinning, was Shove. He waggled his fingers at her, in a wave, winked and scampered out of Jareth's arms reach just in time. Then she looked around again. The room was positively crammed full of goblins. Big goblins, little goblins, ugly goblins, cute goblins. They were sitting on her couch, lying in her chair, perched on every available surface. Their beady little eyes were round, most of them were smiling mischievous little smiles, and some of them had popcorn.

* * *

_Author's note: insert evil laugh here_  



	10. Gifts

_Author's Note: The characters of Jareth, Sarah, Toby, Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, etc. belong to the wonderful Jim Henson company, and I claim no rights to them. The goblins are another story, but any resemblance to any real goblins, living or (while improbable) dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional... except for Shove, because he wouldn't leave me alone until I put him in the story._

* * *

Jareth pushed away from her, drawing himself up to his full height, and turning the force of his gaze on their audience. " And just what do you think you're doing?" he asked them, and the goblins chuckled. He reached down and grabbed the nearest one by the collar of its ragged shirt and hauled it up to eye level. His voice was low and dangerous, "You think this is funny?" It nodded enthusiastically, and the rest of the goblins burst into wild cackles of laughter. With a snarl, he tossed the goblin to the floor and turned back to the others, his mouth set in an angry line. 

"Hey!" Sarah said, and picked up the little goblin that he'd tossed aside. They might be ugly, and not always very bright, and they might be indestructible (almost), but that was no excuse. If there was one thing that she refused to tolerate from both students and goblins, it was physical violence. She dusted him off as well as she could, considering that he seemed to be naturally dusty, and sat him down. "Are you alright?" She asked, and the goblin, a look of awe on his face, gazed up at her and nodded.

The others had all stopped laughing and were staring at her as well. Even Jareth was contemplating her somewhat oddly. "You didn't have to do that," he said. "They don't mind."

"How do you know?" she said.

"Well?" he looked at the goblins, expectantly, but they were all watching Sarah with something akin to reverence. She stood up straight, and pulled her robe tight around her. He might be their King, but they were respectful to her, they called her Lady, and she would not allow him to ill treat them in her house, no matter if his kisses made her knees weak. She looked around at all of them, their small wizened faces, and big eyes and imagined centuries spent living in a castle teeming with them. She imagined their small, dirty, crooked city, and their fondness for nasty pranks. She thought of Hoggle's words, about how goblins came to be made, and realized that these were just children. Like the Lost Boys in Peter Pan, they'd never grown up, they'd just become more of what they were.

Jareth frowned at her again, his eyes narrow, then turned back to them. "Go home," he told them. "We will talk about this later." The goblins didn't move. They still were watching Sarah carefully, as if she were about to do something fascinating and dangerous, like sticking her head in a lion's mouth. She could tell that he was furious, but that he was trying hard to control it.

"Please," she said to the goblins, and they gaped at her, "please go home. I know this is funny for you all, but it's embarrassing me, and making His Majesty angry. Please, it would be best if you went back now." The goblins looked ashamed of themselves.

"We did not mean to embarrass," said one of the bigger goblins. The others all nodded their agreement.

"We will go, Lady," said another, and some of them started to vanish, bowing to her before they went. Some of them nudged others, and they picked up all the popcorn that had spilled on the floor, and straightened up clumsily, and then bowed to her and vanished until only Shove was left, sitting near her foot. He crawled up her robe, and she picked him up and held him so she could look into his tiny, wrinkled face.

"Lady is kind," he said. "King not the only one who give gifts. Goblins have magic, too. Goblins love Lady, gave her gift, long ago, for kindness. She sees, she does." He crawled up her arm, to her shoulder, and reached out and touched her eyelid. Then he said, "Lady see truth."

And it was as if a bright, bright light were turned on in her mind's eye. As if it were unfolding before her, like a movie, she saw a land run wild with magic. Chaos ruled it, and it was death to any and all mortals who ventured near it. Then the goblins came, and because they were creatures of magic as wild and untamed as the land, they turned it into their playground, making danger into fun, and death into thrills. They carved out a city, at the summit of this land, but they were still wild, and nothing could contain them.

Then she was somewhere else, somewhere where the magic ran old and deep and slow, and beautiful people, with fair faces and flowing hair and exotically beautiful clothing were all assembled before two thrones, one white and one black. Both were occupied, but she could not make out any features of the two who sat there, they were glowing so brightly with magic. The crowd parted, and a male and female stood forth. The male was tall and pale, with wild dark hair and pale eyes, the pupils huge and penetrating, he wore dark clothing, much like Jareth's. Beside him stood a pale woman, with long flowing blonde hair, and the bluest eyes she'd ever seen, garbed in light blue. Both of them were so beautiful it almost hurt to look at them, and although they stood so that they were not touching, there was a bond between them that was almost palpable. They reached the foot of the dais, on with the thrones stood, and then parted to stand before their respective rulers, revealing someone who had been following just behind them. He was a boy, almost a man, and his eyes did not match. His hair was blonde as his mother's, but wild like his father's, and his mouth was wary. He was beautiful, and yet strangely apart from those around him, as though he belonged to neither one nor the other, but was a little bit of everything. He bowed before the thrones, and then stood still while the creatures who sat upon the Light and Dark thrones said something. She could not hear their words, but she knew the import of them never the less. The boy had shown an aptitude for handling the goblins. He was of noble blood on both sides, but he could never inherit anything within either kingdom, for neither side trusted him. He was exceptionally clever, and had shown a certain temperament and a natural ability with wild magic that led both Courts to agree for once on something: that he should be sent to the Goblin Kingdom, and there he would be made King. He would bring the goblins to heel, and reclaim the magic of their land. And he would personally set rules for the stealing of mortal children by goblins. It might have seemed like a reward, if it weren't for the look on the boys face. He knew, even then, that he would go alone.

The light changed, and she saw the Goblin Kingdom once again, only now there was a castle, beyond the Goblin City, and at the top of one of its' many towers, the boy, now a man, stood. His eyes took in the chaos of the land, and where his gaze fell, order came. It was a shifting, ephemeral order, prone to moving around if he did not bully it into place, but it obeyed him as it would have obeyed no other. The land became an ever changing maze, and he reached far and wide, into the dreams of mortals to fill it with dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, and the Labyrinth came to heel. The goblins were another matter, and she saw him sitting on his throne, and the goblins came to him, and he judged and ruled, and as the years passed they came to a grudging respect for him, and he in turn viewed them as less of an obligation and more as an annoyance.

There were children, who the goblins stole, and she saw him confront mothers and sisters and brothers and fathers, and they all turned away, and forgot their children, or they attempted the maze, but were turned aside when their own lives were threatened. He collected them, and took them to fae parents who cried with joy over their mortal children, and sometimes, when the baby was damaged, and even the fae wouldn't want it, he gave it to the goblins who raised it as their own, and as time passed, the mortal child became more and more like the goblins until it was one, too. And the King of the Goblins stood alone, at the window of his tower, and grew more and more cold and lonely.

And then she saw him listening to his crystals, and watching them more often, as if he had found something in them that fascinated him beyond compare, and one day, as if he could bear it no longer, he shrugged his shoulders and became a white owl, and flew away to the lands of the mortals, to watch a lovely young girl, in a princess costume, play out her favorite fairy tale in a park for a dog. What was more, it was his tale, his story, and no one had truly believed in him for so long that he'd almost forgotten what it was like, to be near a mortal. She was young, so very young, and she did not understand that the story she read was only half of the truth, but she knew him, and loved him in the way that young girls often love villains. And he loved her in return, for her belief, for her beauty, for her wistful spirit. Day after day, he would come to hear her practice in the park, and night after night, he would watch her dreams in his crystals.

And he decided to give her a gift, a small gift, that he felt she might appreciate. He gave her the words to call on the goblins, if she ever needed them for help. The goblins sensed this gift, and sensed this mortal girl, and knew that there was something special about her, for her to have captivated their king so, and when one night, sick of listening to her little brother scream, she wished she knew what to say, the goblins told her. It had been a long time for them, too, for the world was filling up with iron, and there wasn't much belief left to sustain them. But her words woke them up, and they did what goblins do best, and because he had long ago set the rules under which the goblins could steal a baby, he had to answer. Because he was bound by the rules, he had to become what she most wanted, and most feared.

She saw that he had not meant to come to her so soon, that he knew how young she was, but that he was still fascinated by her. And as she stood up to him, as no other mortal had done, as she fought her way through the Labyrinth, winning over it's denizens and forging alliances with the unlikeliest of creatures, he found himself captivated by her. She watched him watch her, and felt his immortal heart begin to beat again, a little faster, and then the panic, when he realized that she might just do what no one had ever done. And when she reached the heart of the Labyrinth, which was his heart, and she spoke the words that confirmed that he had no hold upon her, he was heartbroken and dismayed to find that he had finally found someone who could match him, step for step, and who yet rejected him, even so.

The King fell into despair, after she had gone, and the goblins began to run free again. They had given her the gift of being able to see them, even in the lands of above ground, and both the goblins and their King watched her constantly as she grew older, until there was not a soul in the Underground who did not know her name, not a goblin that had not peeked in on her just once, hoping that she would speak to it, or smile at it. And the King wished away the time, waiting, and hoping, that someday she would call on him again, and he could redeem himself in her eyes.

When she blinked, her vision cleared, and Shove was gone, and only Jareth remained, watching her closely and frowning.

* * *

_ Author's Note: More to come, but I'll be away for a bit, for the holidays. Will add more when I have time, but I wanted to get this out. This was an odd chapter to write, because it's her seeing things from his point of view, which was difficult to convey. Hopefully I haven't botched it too badly. Happy Holidays, everyone, and don't forget, there's still a ball to go. :) Thanks to all my reviewers for their encouragement. _  



	11. Truth and Lies

* * *

_Author's Note: The characters of Jareth, Sarah, Toby, Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, etc. belong to the wonderful Jim Henson company, and I claim no rights to them. The goblins are another story, but any resemblance to any real goblins, living or (while improbable) dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional... except for Shove, because he wouldn't leave me alone until I put him in the story. _

* * *

He was furious, she could see that much. There was a slight pinch to his nose, a tautness around his winged eyebrows, a  
slightly deeper etching of the lines around his mouth. He had gone very, very still; even his hair and clothing was still. She felt she could have walked up to him and pushed against him and found him no more yielding than a statue. 

There was something else, though, something about him that she hadn't noticed before and had no name for now. He seemed more _there_ than anything else in the room. More real, somehow, as though the sofa and the faded carpet, the window blinds and the wilting fern on the shelf behind him were not quite as substantial as he was. It was as if he'd been burned into the fabric of reality, and he shone brighter, more solid, crisper, than everything else. She glanced away from him, disconcerted by this feeling that her reality might not be able to cope with his, and noticed from the corner of her eye, something else that burned the way he did.

It was a book, wedged among many others on her overflowing bookshelves. She'd picked it up a few times, always meaning to read it, but never quite getting around to it. Now the edges of it seemed harder and crisper than those books around it. The color of it was more vibrant, as if someone had turned up the saturation on just that particular book out of many, or maybe washed out the rest of them with a tinge of gray. It almost glittered, the way he did, she realized, and her eyes were drawn back to him once again.

She didn't know if he was aware of what Shove had shown her, she rather suspected that he didn't, because beneath the anger was suspicion and a certain wariness she'd never noticed in him before. He looked like a man who was facing a gun, but was unsure if it was loaded. Somehow, she hated seeing him look at her like that, as if she were capable of hurting him.

He was bigger than she, stronger than her by far, more powerful, a King, and a Lord in his own right. He commanded legions of goblins and other fae creatures, and the vastness of the Labyrinth. He was more than mortal, more than human, more than just a man, and yet... yet he stared at her as if she were the sharpest of swords, the deadliest of poisons. She hated it.

"I never meant to hurt you," she said, because she didn't know what else to say, and anything, anything had to be better than seeing him stare at her like that. His mismatched eyes narrowed slightly, almost imperceptibly, but she noticed. Somehow, she was better able to read him now, since Shove had opened her eyes. She did not know what gift he'd given her exactly, but right now it was making it easier to follow the Goblin King's mercurial facial expressions, and for that she was grateful.

"Oh, you didn't?" he said, lightly, but she heard the slight sarcasm behind the words, the same words he had spoken nearly ten years before when she'd denied another intent. But she was older now, a little wiser, perhaps, and she knew him better, she thought.

"I didn't," she said, "but I had to have my brother back."

"You were only worried about your own precious skin," he said, his voice flat and harsh. "Worried about what would happen when your father and Karen came home."

"Is that what you think?" she said, tilting her head to study him better. "I'd read the book. I knew that if you took him, and I did nothing, we'd just forget about him. It would have been as if he'd never existed. By the time my parents got home, they wouldn't have remembered him, and I'd have never gotten in trouble. Why would I be worried about it, if I knew that's how it would end?"

"You wanted to be the heroine in your own adventure. You wanted to cower before me. You wanted to defeat me, and leave my world in ruins."

"Well, except for the last bit, maybe," she admitted. "A little. But I also wanted my brother back. I didn't know it then, but I loved him."

"Better late than never, I suppose," he drawled, but she read the line of pain behind his words.

"Yes," she said. He wanted to ask her what Shove had shown her. She could see it in the way he held his head stiffly, the way his gloved hands clenched, as if to hold himself in check. But she could also see that he wouldn't. He was too proud to ask her. Too afraid?

She shook her head, unwilling to believe what her eyes were telling her. Should she tell him the truth? Tell him what she'd seen? Or should she give him the chance to tell her his past himself? Torn, she turned away and went to the bookshelf, drawn towards the book like a moth to a flame. She ran a finger over the binding, and felt the cold cool leather of the spine. She pulled it out and it fell open to a page with a full color illustration of the fae court, so similar to the one she'd just seen in her minds eye that she gave a little gasp. Standing before the court, their backs to the artist, were a tall man and woman, one light, one dark, with a young man between them, his hair blonde and wild. The words on the opposite page were written in a strange, spidery hand, and not printed at all.

"Your family," she murmured, not realizing she'd spoken aloud. The book was suddenly snatched from her hands, and she looked up to find him glaring at it as if it were a venomous snake. The cover, she realized now, was plain with gold lettering: _A Brief Hiftory of the Labyrinthe and the Goblinf: bye Mogg, Goblin Librarian_. She'd never seen it's like before, and had never really noticed the title when she'd picked it up previously. What was going on?

"How do you know this?" he said, thrusting the book at her, his eyes flashing angrily. "How did this come to be here?"

"I—I don't know..." she said, honestly. "I saw them, in my dream, I didn't..."

"Of course you didn't," he mocked. "You never do." He stepped toward her until she was pressed between the bookshelves and his chest. He was furious. She could feel the anger radiating off of him, filling the room, putting out the light until all she could see was the glimmer of his eyes and the faintest halo of his hair. She had a sudden memory, of goblins screaming, and someone scurrying across the floor, and her head ached all of a sudden, she tasted wine on her tongue.

"What did he show you?" he growled, his hands were planted on either side of her, and she felt trapped, but not scared. Somehow she knew he would not physically harm her. Everything was dancing around in her mind though, the odd memory, the things she had seen, the way he seemed more real to her than the sharp edges of the shelf pressing into her shoulder blades—she was confused, disoriented, and the scent of him was setting her hormones off again.

She shook her head, to clear it, "I... I don't know..."

"Sarah, I command you to tell me," he said, and the sound of her name broke through the confusion.

"You can't command me," she said, her own anger flaring. "I'm not yours to command."

He flinched back, his eyes wary. "What did he show you?" he said again, and not knowing what else to say, and not wanting to lie, she told him the truth.

"He showed me the past! Your past!"

The Goblin King's eyes tightened, and he went very still. When he spoke it was a bare whisper, hissed harshly between his teeth: "That... was none... of your... concern..."

And then he simply wasn't there anymore. The room felt bereft, as though its soul had been torn from it, and she fell to her knees, not knowing until she put her hand over her mouth, and it came away wet, that she was crying.

* * *

The nights that passed after that were dreamless, and the days were gray and bland. The goblins seemed subdued, and they gathered around her, taking pains not to make too much noise, or to cause any mischief. Shove came creeping back the next day, looking sad, but pleased with himself, and he slept curled up on her pillow, holding a lock of her hair, as if afraid she might be lonely. 

She wasn't, she kept telling herself. Why should she be? He hated her, he always had, the chemistry between them was nothing more than a game, or a result of the tension between them.

But she knew it was a lie. She couldn't even lie to herself anymore, not with Shove's gift.

He had given her the ability to see the truth.

It made conversations with others awkward sometimes, because she always knew when they were lying. They dimmed a bit, every time they lied. Like a string of Christmas lights, fading out only to come back and burn as brightly as before.

The thing was, she discovered, humans lied _all the time_. They lied to each other. They lied to themselves. They lied about big things and little things, important and unimportant. It was if they were lying just to stay in practice. Or like it was as instinctual as breathing.

If someone told her to "have a nice day" they _dimmed_ a bit, if they didn't mean it. When the teacher who she shared a lunch table with told her that her husband was going out of town for the weekend, Sarah saw the lie written in every line of her face, in the way she held her head, in the way she pressed a little too hard with her pencil, as she filled in the crossword puzzle, and it came to her that the husband had run off with his secretary like an old cliché. When one of her students told her that he was always late to class because the other teacher didn't release them on time, he dimmed, and she suddenly knew that he was late because he was smoking in the boys' room during passing periods.

It got to the place where she avoided peoples' eyes and their words equally, because you can lie with your face only, schooling it into a mask that smiles when it wants to frown, and frowns when it wants to smile.

The only creatures she found that did not lie to her were small children, sometimes, and goblins. Goblins were amazingly honest. They would tell you when they had done something wrong, or would say what was on their minds without wondering how it would affect you. And they were more real seeming than the rest of the world, brighter, as if the human world were all a lie, and the only truth it in it was the goblins that only she and Toby could see.

So she knew, when she told herself that it didn't matter, that it did. When she thought that she wasn't lonely, she was. When she said she didn't care if she ever saw him again, her heart broke a little more each time, because she knew it was a lie, and that if she never saw him again, her life would be dull and gray and empty, and it would stretch on like the Endless Corridor, with no way to escape.

* * *

_AN: Sorry, this is short. But there's more coming, I swear. This was a hard chapter to write, after coming back. It was in such an awkward place and yet two very big things had to occur before anything else could. I'd originally planned for this story to only have 13 chapters (seemed fitting), but I'm not sure that it ends where I thought it ended before. So you may be getting more. Or not. We'll see. Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed so far. You all are far too kind to my writing abilities._

_(I've brought you a gift, something from a friend of mine: deviate 26886821 mercuralis)_

_ Enjoy, my little goblins :)  
_


	12. The Right Questions

_Author's Note: The characters of Jareth, Sarah, Toby, Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, etc. belong to the wonderful Jim Henson company, and I claim no rights to them. The goblins are another story, but any resemblance to any real goblins, living or (while improbable) dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional... except for Shove, because he wouldn't leave me alone until I put him in the story._

* * *

Twelve nights she endured without dreaming of him, and those nights felt empty and lonely beyond measure. She could not get warm, it seemed, no matter how she bundled up, and she woke fitfully from restless sleep every hour or so. The circles under her eyes became such that she could not hide them, and during the day she felt like a zombie, avoiding others eyes. 

If others noticed, they didn't say much. They were used to her looking ill, and she discovered quickly, with her newfound talent, that even those who did say something didn't really want the truth.

"Insomnia," she'd tell them, and they'd nod, and then, as if they'd expected that very answer, launch into an account of their own sleeping habits, and possible remedies that they themselves had found to work for getting to sleep. They might tell her the truth, but she found that the question itself was a lie, for they had no concern for her.

She felt like a changeling that had finally outgrown this world and was beginning to fade away because it has lost contact with its own. But she'd been born to this world, hadn't she? This was where she belonged, wasn't it?

There were questions she didn't know how to ask: about him, about the Labyrinth, about herself as well. And she was afraid of the answers. Even if she knew the questions, she didn't know whom to ask.

The goblin history book still lay on the floor where he'd dropped it when he vanished. She was surprised he had not taken it with him, but he hadn't, and she was reluctant to pick it up. Somehow, she suspected it would tell her more than what she wanted to know, and she wasn't sure she could handle it. All her life she had pored through books, searching for the truth about the world of the goblins, and now she had it in her hands. She was afraid.

He had been so angry, but then, wouldn't she be angry if someone had laid her entire past out for someone else to see? They were alike, in some ways. Both of them had grown up lonely, without many friends. They had distant parents, who were unable to be together. They were both caretakers of goblins and children. They were both alone. It was no wonder they were drawn to one another.

She wondered what his days were like. Did he spend all day in the castle? Did he do things that other Kings did? There were so many questions, and they crowded into her mind until, on the twelfth night, she was unable to fall asleep at all.

The book, its dark blue leather cover and gilt letters sparkling in the moonlight, seemed to call to her, until she couldn't resist picking it gingerly up, and carrying it over to the arm chair. She curled up on the seat, her legs under her, and tucked a blanket around herself. Then she carefully opened the book.

It was written in Goblin, but she found she could read it as easily as English. The beginning chapters were much of what she'd seen when Shove opened her eyes. The choosing of the Goblin King, the formation of the Labyrinth, and the taming of the goblins were all laid out in the Goblins' odd spidery looking words.

It was the chapter on magic that gave her a new perspective. According to the book, the magic of the Goblins was limited, unless joined together as a whole. Goblin magic was used mainly for small things, mischief, mostly, and traveling between worlds. Put together, however, Goblin magic was enough to challenge the King. The Goblin King had his own Fae magic, the ability to travel even faster than the Goblins, the power to see into dreams and nightmares, the power to shape, create, and destroy. He also had a rare ability for handling wild magic, which was what the Labyrinth was made of: wild magic tamed by his hand. The Labyrinth was an extension of its King, and at the same time, it was its own self as well, for the Labyrinth was the land, and it made its own choices.

There was a very precarious balance between them, but what it boiled down to was that Jareth was the Goblin King, not just because the Fae Court had designated him so, but because the Goblins had allowed him to rule them, and the Labyrinth had chosen him to control it. And should either the land or those he ruled decide otherwise, he would be hard pressed to keep his throne.

Sarah read on, fascinated, drawn into the history behind the Labyrinth as she'd never been by any other text, because every word written here was truth. She did not have to wade through false leads and fairy tales to get to it, it was written here clear as day, and she could see all the way through the words to get the whole truth behind them.

The following chapter detailed the taking of human children. It told of how, ever since mortals had been given the power of speech, they'd begun making wishes. It was the province of Faerie to choose to grant such wishes, for the Fae were the living embodiment of magic itself. The thing was, humans had a very bad habit of wishing for anything they thought they wanted, with little thought to the consequences of it. Sometimes this resulted in small mix-ups, and sometimes it cost them their lives. The Fae seldom judged, but when it came to the fate of mortal children, judgment was necessary. Parents, in a moment of frustration, were often willing to wish their children away, without thought to the consequences.

By creating the Labyrinth, and imposing rules upon it and the Goblins who took those children, the Fae had put a stop to a possible war. For if the Goblins stole every child wished away, there would be few mortal children left, and the mortals, who never understood their own fault in the matter, would turn against Faerie, unleashing a war such had never been seen. The Rules and the Goblin King's watch over the practice, kept such from happening. After a few unworthy parents had faced the Labyrinth, and lost their children, the word spread somehow, and parents kept their mouths shut and their wishes simpler, to protect their children and themselves. It was belief, however, that made such wishes possible, and as belief in Faerie waned, fewer and fewer children were wished away, until only a few people left in the world truly believed

Something was bothering her, however. It seemed that the Labyrinth was never meant to be solved. The King had twisted it and warped it and changed it so that it would never be easy, but the furthest she found that anyone had ever gotten before was the Place of Lost Things. None but she had ever found her way to the Goblin City. None but she had ever made it into the Castle beyond it. None but she had ever found the center of the Labyrinth and defeated its King.

So how had the author of the book she'd loved as a child _known_ what she would find there?

Unless...

She got up and put the book away on the shelf carefully. Then she went to her room. In her bedside stand she kept the small wooden box, with the white feather in it. She also kept her music box there, and beneath them, its slim red leather cover worn a bit from time and handling, was her copy of _The Labyrinth_.

She had not looked at it in years, but now she looked at what she'd never noticed before: there was no author listed on the cover. She opened the book and flipped to the title page, and again only found the title, but no author's name.

She skimmed through the next few pages to the first chapter. There was no publication information. No copyright notice page. No ISBN number. No Library of Congress cataloging information. Nothing that said that this book really existed.

She thought hard, trying to remember where she'd gotten it, and it seemed as if it had always belonged to her, always rested beside her bed, from the time she was a little, little girl. Somewhere, at the back of her mind, a memory wriggled its way forward.

Her mother had given it to her. She had been five or six, and she'd broken something of her mother's. A crown or a tiara of some sort. She'd thought it had been a prop, for it looked ancient, and she figured her mother wouldn't mind if she played princess with it for a little bit. But she'd dropped it, and bent the gold filigree on it a little bit, and her mother had been furious. Sarah had run to her room, crying, certain her mother hated her and would send her away. Linda had crept up to her room, and sat on her bed, and smoothed her hair away from her tear stained cheeks. Then she'd held out the slim, red bound book, and told her:

"I would never send you away. I would come after you, even to the ends of the earth."

And that night she'd read her the tale of the brave girl who ventures into the Labyrinth to save her baby brother from the clutches of the Goblin King. The entire time, Sarah had been mesmerized by her mother's smooth voice, an actress's voice, and the beauty of the words. When it was over, her mother had given her the book, and told her to take care of it. "It's been in the family for years," she'd said. Then she'd given her a kiss, and tucked her in, and closed the door enough that a little light shown in from the hall, like a promise.

A promise she'd never kept, of course, for it was only a few years later that she'd left both home and daughter, never to return.

She stared at the plain cover, running her fingers over the gilt letters.

There was something going on here, something more than just a girl and a stolen child, more than just an angry king. There was some other game being played, and it had been in motion for longer than just ten years.

She went back to the living room and picked out the Goblin History book again. She flipped to the last chapter.

_As the mortal world fades away from our own, as their belief grows weaker, we must find new ways of sustaining our land and tying it to the mortal realm. We will continue to influence writers and artists and those who keep the magic of the old ways, as we have always, but that may not be enough. It has been suggested that an alliance between a Human Queen and our King would strengthen the bond between our worlds, but the Fae Court does not keep relations with the current leaders of the human world, for good reason, and the seeds of the Kings and Queens of old are now scattered throughout their realm. If such a Queen could be found, it would be worthwhile to at least present the idea to our King, but he is proud, and would likely resent such an alliance. We must have hope, however, and believe, and we will find a way. _

Her mind burned with questions. Old memories surfaced in unexpected light and clarity. Her mother's face when she'd bent the crown. Her father's eyes when he'd seen her in one of her fairy princess dresses at Halloween one year. The way the Goblins bowed to her. The number of Goblins who had turned out for her mother's funeral, and the way people had loved Linda Williams. She remembered meeting Hoggle, and his words to her, at the first gate. _It's hopeless, asking you anything,_ she'd said. _Not if you ask the right questions,_ he'd replied. She remembered his face: _You know your problem, you take too many things for granted. Take this Labyrinth... Even if you get to the center, you'll never get out again. _The worm, perched on the brick wall: _Things are not always what they seem, in this place, so you can't take anything for granted._ The old man, with the bird hat: _Sometimes the way forward is the way back. _

As if dreaming, she went back to her bedroom, and sat at her vanity. She reached out and touched the mirror, and felt it cool against her fingertips. "Hoggle," she said. "I need you."

And then he was there, his wrinkled face scowling at her in the reflection, just beyond her shoulder.

"What is it?" He said. "Decided to give up on being friends with His Royal Pain in the Arse-ness?"

"Hoggle," she said, "I need to ask you some questions." His eyes became wary.

"Oh, no, not again."

"Hoggle, I need some answers, and you usually have them." He puffed his chest out a bit at the praise and looked around.

"Well, I ain't promisin' nothin,' but alright," he said.

"Hoggle, who was my mother?" His face grew sad, and a little pale.

"You sure you want to know?" he said.

"Yes." He took a breath.

"Your mother was the descendant of one of the Mortal Queens of old. One of the last to follow the old ways before the line was scattered over the globe in some petty human war. But the line was true, in your mother. Did she still have the crown?" He asked.

"Yes," Sarah said, remembering. "But I don't know where it is now."

"Doesn't matter," he said. "But that's how the Labyrinth found her. And you." Sarah digested that information for a moment. My kingdom as great, she thought.

"Hoggle, where did these books come from?" she placed them on the vanity in front of her. His gaze grew shifty, but, as if compelled to answer her, he did.

"The big one used to be in the castle. One of the Goblin Librarians wrote it. They don't got much to write about, so mostly they write history. Goblins have a limited imagination, so we don't get novels as such. I'm thinkin' your little friend may have brought it over for you, knowin' how you likes books and all. The other is, er... old. I can't tell you who wrote it, but it reeks of the Labyrinth's magic. It's possible that the Labyrinth wrote it, itself."

"It can do that?" she asked.

"Don't underestimate it. You might think it's just a maze but when it wants something done, it does it." He frowned again, looking at it. "It's old, almost as old as Jareth. But his thoughts are alive and moving to keep up with the goblins. The Labyrinth doesn't think like we do, it's not alive in the same way. It's ancient, and thinks in terms of eons, not years. It's possible it has had things in motion for a long time, and they're only now catchin' up to us."

"Why would it do that?"

"It's tricky. It likes games. And Jareth wouldn't be able to follow what it was doing that way, or stop it. In some ways, it's stronger than he is." Sarah wasn't sure she liked that thought.

"I thought it's a part of him?"

"It is, and it isn't. Some of it more than others."

"Hoggle, one more question. What is at the center of the Labyrinth?"

He scowled.

"What'd you have to go and ask me that for?"

"I need to know." He scowled some more, his eyebrows bristling, but in the end he answered.

"Well, think about it. The Labyrinth is part of Jareth, it was born from him, shaped from him. It's a test, isn't it? That you have to pass to win back the stolen child. In a way it's a judgment. But he's the King, and he gets final judgment. So the final test, the very center of the Labyrinth is... well... it's his heart. You have to win his heart to get the child back. If you give in, or give up, you're unworthy, and he keeps the child. But you didn't even give in to him, did ya? You stayed true to your purpose. You won."

"But you said, if I found my way to the center of the Labyrinth, I'd never get back out again. And I know that wasn't a lie. I can feel it."

"It wasn't a lie. You never left the center of the Labyrinth, Sarah. You still are in his heart, and you carry it with you, even now."  
_  
_

* * *

_AN: I hope the length of this one makes up for the shortness of the last. I think I must be breaking some rule, by putting so much exposition towards the end of the story... but I can't even tell for sure that this IS the end of the story. There's still more to come, how much, only the goblins telling it to me know, and right now, they're eating my socks. _


	13. Heart of the Labyrinth

_Author's Note: The characters of Jareth, Sarah, Toby, Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, etc. belong to the wonderful Jim Henson company, and I claim no rights to them. The goblins are another story, but any resemblance to any real goblins, living or (while improbable) dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional... except for Shove, because he wouldn't leave me alone until I put him in the story. The lyrics included in this chapter are from the song "Within You" as written by David Bowie.  
_

* * *

The following day, she shuffled through her classes, barely paying attention to what she was saying. Not that the students were listening anyway. She felt like a ghost, and it was only the giant mug of coffee she kept refilling that kept her from falling asleep at her desk. 

Around noon she was called to the office, and shown in to see the principal. He was a big man, balding, with a pouting lower lip that the kids made fun of often, calling him "baby face." He sat with his hand steepled above her personal file.

"Sarah," he said, as she sat down, "is everything alright?"

She heard the faint hint of the lie behind his words, but chose to answer honestly anyway.

"Not, really," she said. "I'm not sleeping well."

"You should try some chamomile tea before bed, always knocks me right out." She tried not to laugh. "Anyway, I'm concerned about you, Sarah. Your students are out of control and you look like the walking dead. There's a rumor going around that you're sicker than you're letting on."

"No," she said, "I'm fine. I'm just tired, is all."

"Well, I'm going to make sure you get some rest. We can call in a substitute for a week or two. Take a vacation. See a doctor. Get some sleep. I can't have you scaring the students into thinking you're going to keel over at any moment. Understand?"

She nodded. She understood more than he knew. His concern was honest, although she felt a half-truth in all of it, too. He, like many others, didn't really care about her. She was expendable. She taught English, and there were always English teachers. If she'd taught math or science, or been a coach, he'd be at church praying for her but English teachers were a dime a dozen. He didn't care if she came back from her vacation or not, just so long as she didn't look like death when she did.

He handed her some paperwork to fill out, and told her to go ahead and leave directly after her last class. She didn't have the heart to argue.

The rest of the day Hoggle's words continued to twirl through her brain. She was descended from royalty? Somehow that didn't seem as momentous as learning that what she'd conquered, in the end, had not just been the Labyrinth, but the Goblin King's heart as well. Did he love her, she wondered.

Did she love him?

He was mercurial, and cold. He was often arrogant and manipulative. How much of that was an act, or a mask, to keep his true feelings hidden? She couldn't tell until she talked to him again. And since he was angry, and the dreams had stopped, that wasn't likely to be soon.

Dreams, he'd said, are more than true. Especially our dreams. Although I confess, our dreams have become so hopelessly entangled that I know longer know which of us is dreaming them.

She heard nothing but truth in the remembered words, and she thought: if that's true, then I'm sharing his dreams as much as he's sharing mine. She suspected that it had been going on for so long, the dreams, that they were hopelessly entwined. But he had shut her out, now, and it made her angry. In dreams she'd felt closer to him than ever. There had been no anger between them, no enmity. They'd been... friends.

It was unfair of him to be angry with her for something Shove had shown her. Besides, it wasn't as if he hadn't been watching her since she was a child. He probably knew more about her than anyone else. It wasn't fair.

But then, that's how it was.

The words swirled through her mind: You have no power over me.

There was a lie there, but it was complicated, and she couldn't unravel it. What she did get, however, was a small truth. He could not shut her out, not completely. They were bound together, by what happened, and he could no more shut her from his life than she could shut him from hers.

It was with this knowledge that she went to bed that night, and with more determination than she'd felt in years, that she went to sleep, and dreamed.

* * *

At first there was no light, and she groped around desperately, searching for the wall. It was closer than she thought, and she scraped her knuckles against the rough surface when her hand came in contact. She knew, by the smell of the air, that she was back in the oubliette. He was trying to forget her again, but she would not let him. 

Wincing at the pain in her hand, she felt along the wall, shuffling her feet, looking for something but not knowing what it was until she found it. Her foot bumped against the wood first, and kneeling down, she felt the rough door shape lying on the floor. She picked it up and placed it against a niche in the wall, and then felt around for the latch, concentrating on him the whole time. She heard the lock turn, although she'd done nothing, and she swung the door open to find a stairwell going up with a dim light filtering down through the dust filled air. It was just enough to guide her, so she took a step, and then another.

The stairs seemed to go up forever, but she would not let them beat her. As she climbed she thought of everything he'd ever said to her. She thought of the owl perched in the tree the day her mother had been buried. She thought of the way he felt when he pressed her against the wall, and the way he tasted when he had claimed her mouth. She remembered Brad, and the night he'd tried to rape her, and the glimmer of Jareth's eyes in the darkness as he'd saved her. She thought of his hands, his slender but strong, gloved hands, and the way they felt in her hair, so gentle. She heard his frustration with her, and knew it for desire. She heard his anger, and knew it was directed at himself. In the near darkness, she opened her eyes and saw the truth, that he loved her, and that she, in spite of it all, loved him, and the truth gave her feet wings so that she nearly flew up the last few stairs and into the heart of the Labyrinth.

She looked down at her blue jeans, her white poets shirt and vest, her moccasins. She was fifteen again, and suddenly she couldn't remember why she was here, in this place with no up or down or sideways. All she knew was she had to find something, something important, someone important. Someone she loved was in this place and she had to find him.

She climbed. Up and down, vertigo disorienting her when she came to a place where the stairs came sideways out of the wall. She paused at the lip of a ledge, and looked over it at the depths of insane architecture. This was impossible!

And then he was there, on the other side of the floor she stood on, staring up at her. Her heart skipped a beat.  
_  
How you've turned my world you precious thing..._

His world? There was something she needed to remember. But she could focus on nothing but him as he ran up an upside down staircase. She spun, searching, hearing his booted steps behind her.

_You starve and near exhaust me..._

Something to do with her dreams... what was it again? Her hormones were going haywire, and she could almost feel his lips on hers, like before... but wait, when had he ever kissed her before? She was fifteen. She'd never been kissed, unless you counted that one time, in second grade when Tommy Little had cornered her on the playground and kissed her and gave her his pet frog. But yet she could feel the echo of the Goblin King's lips on hers, feel the softness of his hair like a ghost on her fingertips.

_Everything I've done I've done for you..._

For her? But he'd only been cruel and horrible. He'd almost killed her with those cleaners! Not to mention the oubliette. The oubliette... a memory tried to get her attention but it slipped away as she ran up a flight of stairs, desperate to keep him in view. Then he was rounding a corner, and walking past her... no, through her. He turned, his face twisted with cruelty (no hurt, her brain said).

_I move the stars for no one..._

But he'd moved them for her, hadn't he? Why? What couldn't she remember? Her body felt strange to her, like it didn't quite fit. She was gawky and awkward. He disappeared again, stepping into space, defying gravity as he transferred from one up to another. He was comfortable here in a way she was not. It was his home... his heart...

It came trickling back. His heart...  
_  
You've run so long, you've run so far..._

He came around again, stepping onto her side of the ledge, approaching her warily. He held up a crystal, juggling it smoothly for a moment, before suddenly hurling it into space. She followed its arc, heard the sound of it as it impossibly bounced up a flight of stairs, and was caught in the hand of a small baby boy wearing a red and white playsuit.

"Toby!" she cried, but in the instant she said his name, she heard the lie.

It wasn't Toby. It was a dream. Toby was safe, at home, ten years old now, with goblins for friends. The baby was an illusion, a distraction, a temptation.

But that wasn't why she was here. She turned back, looking for the Goblin King, only to find him gone. She searched around wildly, fighting vertigo as she looked at the walls and stairs that seemed to go on impossibly. She found him, above her, and standing sideways, and she immediately set off towards him, climbing up and down stairs, trying to find the one that would lead her to him.

He was only watching her now, not coming toward her, but vanishing every time she got too close and reappearing further away.

She had a stitch in her side, and her legs burned from all the climbing, but she would not give up now. She had to reach him, find him, tell him the truth.

She paused, reorienting herself, and found herself standing on a ledge. Below her, seated next to a window, was the illusion of her baby brother. He glanced up at her, and again she felt how easy it would be to jump, to take hold of the baby and go home, to her normal, dull, gray life. She backed away and looked up. He stood on the ledge above her, all she had to do was climb the stairs.

She went up. As she did, the stairs crumbled away behind her, falling into space, as did the rest of the room, until she stood on the only thing that was left in the world, a small crumbled ledge, floating in a hazy pink sky.

All around her, time stood still. And as he came out of the shadows, she saw that he was not wearing white, as she had expected. Instead he wore a black shirt, gaping open to his waist, beneath a tight black leather vest he'd left unfastened. His black breeches hugged his legs, and with the gloves and the boots he was everything predatory and dangerous. He came toward her, wary.

"Sarah," he said, but he did not seem to know what else to say. So she took a step forward, feeling her body behave as usual. She was not fifteen, she was twenty-five. She was a woman. She knew, finally, what she wanted.

"Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered," she began, and his eyes hardened. "I have fought my way here, to the castle beyond the Goblin City." Slowly he backed away from her, though his eyes never left hers. They were locked together again, and he did not know how to play the game this way. "For my will is as strong as yours," she continued, " and my kingdom as great..."

"Stop," he said, holding out his hand, and in his eyes she saw all the pain and loneliness that he'd endured in his long, long life.

"I have come to give you the heart that you have stolen," she said, softly, taking the hand he'd held out, and pressing it to her breast.

And then she woke up, and it was daylight, and the phone was ringing by the bed, and her knuckles were bleeding.

* * *

_AN: Well, would you look at that! Another chapter! I have another one edging around the corners of my brain... but this one has been in the works now from the beginning, so I'm glad you're finally able to see it. Shove says "Hi!" and "Please review!"  
_


	14. Masquerade

* * *

_Author's Note: The characters of Jareth, Sarah, Toby, Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, etc. belong to the wonderful Jim Henson company, and I claim no rights to them. The goblins are another story, but any resemblance to any real goblins, living or (while improbable) dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional... except for Shove, because he wouldn't leave me alone until I put him in the story. _

* * *

She fumbled for the receiver, swearing under her breath when she accidentally knocked it out of it's cradle and onto the floor. 

"Hello," she said, groggily, sucking on her sore knuckles.

"Sarah, I can't believe you're still asleep. It's one in the afternoon!" Karen's voice, she decided, took on a decidedly shrill cast when heard over the phone. "I wanted to tell you, the limo will be around at seven to pick you up. They'll buzz from the gate."

"Limo?"

"For the party tonight. Sarah, don't tell me you've forgotten your father's company party. I've been talking about it for weeks. You're bringing that charming boyfriend of yours. Remember?"

Memory came back in a rush and Sarah groaned, turning her face into the pillow. Maybe, she reasoned, if she didn't answer, Karen would just forget all about it.

"Sarah, can you hear me? I think your phone is cutting out. Sarah?" No such luck.

"I heard," she said into the phone.

"Oh. Well, in any case, wear that white dress you have, and see if you can scrounge up a mask. If you can't let me know and I'll find you one. We'll see you tonight!" And then the shrillness had stopped and the dull pounding of her headache had begun.

She hung up the phone and then laid back among her pillows.

The blood on her knuckles told her that she'd done what she'd set out to do last night. The question was, had it been enough? And as for the ball, she couldn't have cared less, at this point. She'd never asked him to take her, and she couldn't now. She refused to wish for it. She would just have to go alone, and tell another lie.

The thought of it made her nauseous.

One thing was certain, though. She would not be wearing the white dress.

* * *

She was wearing the white dress. 

After she'd showered, and blow dried her hair into something that looked reasonably fashionable, she'd put on another of her mother's gowns: a black one, with a high collar and long sleeves. It made her look pale and wretched, but she didn't care, she only wanted to disappear once she got there, and the black would keep her from standing out too much.

She'd turned to look for her jewelry, and as she picked up the slender silver bracelet, to slide it on, she pushed up the pointed, long white sleeves in frustration, then froze.

She looked down.

She was wearing the white dress.

Somehow, in the space of a breath, her gown had been switched.

It was her dream dress, down to the last pearl bead and the last golden thread. She felt as she had before, as if she were floating among the clouds. As she turned to look for the culprit, her head felt curiously heavy and, reaching up, she found her hair had been teased into a mass of dark curls interwoven with strands of silver and leaves of gold.

Behind her, something giggled.

When she turned she wasn't surprised to find Shove, and several other goblins, sitting on her bed, watching her.

"Did we get it right, Lady?" Asked one of them.

"Change it back," she said. But they shook their heads.

"No, Lady. You supposed to be wearin' that dress," Shove said. She frowned.

"On whose orders?" They looked at one another in confusion, then shrugged.

"You just is," he told her.

She felt behind her, for the laces, to pull it off, but couldn't locate them. She was trapped in the white dress. She sighed with exasperation, and turned to face herself in the mirror.

The woman that stared back was as regal and beautiful as a Faery Queen. Her skin was flawless, even her freckles had vanished. Her eyes were huge and dark, the makeup around them only making them stand out even more. Her lips were full, parted slightly, as though she'd just been kissed. She was thinner, than her mother had been, for the dressed was laced as tight as it would go, and it pushed up her breasts so they looked a bit larger than usual. She did not look like a child; she looked like a woman.

"What good is it," she said, with a sigh. "He won't be there."

"You take too much for granted," said one of the goblins, a spindly little fellow with a pointy lower lip and an even pointier nose.

"I don't have a mask," she said.

"Lady not need one," said Shove. "Uh oh," he added, pointing out the window. "Biiiiiiiig car here." He smiled up at her, showing all of his sharp little teeth. "This gonna be some fun."

* * *

The party had already started by the time she got there. It was odd, she thought, as the driver handed her out of the limo, to see all these businessmen in costumes fit for a Faerie Court. They'd rented out the old Bastian Hotel (which had once been a mansion before being converted over by her father's company) for the evening, and the whole place was lit up like a Faerie castle, with twinkling lights winking everywhere, and everything sparkling with glitter. The lobby had been drenched in gold: gold cloth, gold chandeliers with dripping white candles, gold candelabras in the shapes of nymphs and satyrs and mermaids. Giant gold balloons floated against the high ceiling, trailing long gold and silver ribbons to the floor, so that she had to brush through them to make her way around. 

It was so like her dreams that she was dizzy for a moment with deja vu. Everywhere she looked, there were masks. Unlike her dream, however, these masks were mostly innocuous: harlequins, Mardi Gras masks, peacock feathered and beaded confections dreamed up by the most tasteless of mask makers. There were some elaborate headdresses, and simple half masks, and some lovely, clearly handmade, beauties. But every once in a while, when she'd turn a little too quickly, a mask would pass by that would catch her eye because it was burning a little too brightly to be from her world. It would only be a glimpse of one them, vanishing into a crowd, but she had the impression that the masks were lovely, but grotesque, and hid faces that were too beautiful to be mortal.

It disconcerted her so much that she didn't hear Karen until the woman was standing at her elbow. "You couldn't find a mask? Oh, bother, and I left my extra at home. What ever are we going to do with you?"

Karen, true to form was wearing a frothy pink gown that would have shamed Glinda the Good Witch of the North. Her mask was clearly expensive, made of delicate white lace over molded pink satin, dripping with pearls, and decorated with tiny pink roses that matched the ones set into her upswept blonde hair. Behind her mask, her stepmother's eyes appraised her.

"I knew you would look stunning in that dress. Doesn't she look pretty?" Karen asked Sarah's father, who had wandered over, his mask dangling from one hand, and the other occupied with a glass of burbon.

"Very pretty, dear," he said, and bent over and kissed Sarah on her forehead, and she knew he was telling the truth. "You enjoying yourself?"

"It's a nice party, dad," she said politely. "What theme is it?" She was almost afraid to ask.

"Some Shakespeare something," he said. "Ask Karen, she was on the committee. Oh, dammit, George wants me for something. You'll excuse me, won't you, baby?" And he kissed her again and wandered off towards the bar.

"A Midsummer Night's Dream," said Karen, taking her arm and leading her toward the ballroom. "I know it's a bit late in the year for it, but we thought it'd be pretty. What do you think? Is it fit for your fairies?"

Sarah was quiet as she stood at the top of the stairs and stared down at the room below.

The walls were draped in dark blue velvet, which glittered with silver stars under the twinkling lights and the many candles, electric and otherwise. From the ceiling, more balloons hung, bobbing a little in the breeze that wafted in through the open doors to the veranda. These were silver, and seemed to contain little twinkling lights of their own, turning the ceiling into an ever-shifting starlit sky. There was a fountain, at the center of the room, and the colored lamps set into it turned the water into a shimmering cascade of gold as well. Everywhere, real live potted trees had been manicured into fantastic shapes, and draped with more twinkling lights. On the veranda she glimpsed tables covered in sheer white cloths that moved with the breeze like the skirts of a woman dancing.

But it was the dancers themselves that stole her attention, for among the mortals danced the Fae. She supposed that to the willfully ignorant eyes of the businessmen and women, and their shallow, scheming spouses that filled the room, these were just ordinary humans, dressed up to look like creatures of magic. But Sarah, with her charmed eyes, could see past the glamour to the reality, and with a start she realized that what she was seeing was a merging of borders, a blurring of lines, and the land of Faerie, set loose on the earth by the power of this one magical night, mingled with mortal realm.

They were tall and short, their gowns woven of silks and laces and leathers that had never been touched by mortal hands. Their masks were beautiful and grotesque at the same time, Goblin masks and death masks, Fae masks. Some of them weren't even masks at all, but their own fantastic faces. They danced with a grace that defied gravity, defied physics and form. And the mortals who danced among them never noticed when one of them danced through them, as if they were no more substantial than smoke.

In the shadows of the flickering candles, other creatures moved. Familiar shapes lurked in corners, flipping up ladies skirts, or carefully sticking a trail of toilet paper to a man's shoe. The shadows and cracks and nooks and niches were positively crammed with goblins of all shapes and sizes.

And somewhere, nearby, she knew she would find their King.

Karen was talking, but she wasn't paying attention until she heard her say "... Jareth?"

"What?" She asked, blinking, and trying to indicate that the music was too loud.

"I said," Karen said, a bit too loudly, in her ear, "Where did you put Jareth?"

"I...," she shrugged, lamely, "He's somewhere." She said, honestly enough.

"Well, when you find him, come find me. I have something to give him," and then her stepmother bubbled her way back through the door to find her father, trying to squeeze her froth of skirts through the bottleneck at the door.

The band finished playing whatever waltz they'd been plunking out, and a new set of musicians took their place. As the first notes fell over the crowd, the din of talking people fell silent, and those first few notes fell like crystals amidst the sudden quiet. Sarah turned to look at the bandstand, situated at one end of the room, and was not surprised to see that every one of the musicians burned brightly against the room. Quite an accomplishment considering that the room itself seemed to be pulsing in and out of her reality and into theirs.

The music seemed to cast a spell over everyone, mortal, fae, and goblin alike, until they were all swaying in time to the music, the goblins quiet for once as the soft strains of a song straight out of Faerie called them all to dance.

She felt the pull of the music, but was able to resist it easily enough. She knew he was here, somewhere, laughing at her, and she wasn't going to have it. Last night she'd given him her heart, and she wanted to know what he intended to do with it. She pushed through the crowd that was moving down the stairs toward the dance floor, eager to be closer to the music. All around her she felt the eyes of the Fae following her, their sparkling laughter a soft counterpoint to the music.

She didn't care. Her head high, she descended the stairs, searching for him.

"Gentle Lady," a soft voice said, and she turned to find a tale male Fae bowing slightly to her. His mask was a mockery of a goblin face, but the smile behind it was gentle. "It would honor me to dance with you."

"I... I'm looking for someone," she said, unused to the attention of men, fae or otherwise. He smiled, but not unkindly.

"Patience, I'm told, is a virtue in your world. Let him play his games, and we will counter with our own," he held out a slender white gloved hand, and without knowing what she was doing, she set her hand in his.

"I don't want to play games," she said, and he pulled her toward him and swept her onto the dance floor.

"Then do as you will, Lady. Your will is strong enough to hold against his, and he will come to you when he understands that." His hands were gentle and light on her waist and cupping her hand, and he remained a respectful distance. Under other circumstances, she would have found him quite handsome, but he was not who she sought. "We have waited for you a long time, Lady." He laughed softly at her surprise, for she heard the truth of his words. "The rumor mongers of our world are no less loose tongued as those in yours. We knew of you, and indeed, some of those that still travel Between Worlds have watched you as well. They are shier than the goblins, of course, and prefer to watch without being seen. But the stories of you have traveled our world, and you have earned the respect of the Seelie Court, at least. I cannot speak for the Other."

She was quiet, and considered this information as he swept her along, as light and airy as a feather.

"It has been a long time since one of your kind has come willingly to one of ours. It is a momentous occasion, although I fear the timing of it. There is wild magic loose here."

"How do you know?"

"We could not have come here so easily, else."

"Why here?" she asked. "This is nothing, just a mortal party. Why come here?"

"Because you've drawn us here, Gentle Lady. The power that is binding you ever more surely to him is pulling him even more strongly to you—and in doing so our worlds become closer. He is young, still, in the way that our People measure time, and very powerful, and the holding of his heart is no light thing. I only hope that you will be strong enough to bear it, for it would pain us to lose such a Mortal Lady as you."

"What do you mean?"

"Patience, and hope, a dash of courage, and that blessedly steady heart of yours. Follow your heart, Sweet Lady, and you will withstand all that will come. I only hope that when you do, you remember me as a friend."

"Why?" she asked, tilting her head to the side to study his face, where the mask did not conceal it. "I thought the Fae hated the goblins."

He laughed, a musical sound, and twirled her again. "I had forgotten how full of questions Mortals can be. We do not hate the goblins. Fear them, yes. Are... disgusted with them, of course," he shrugged. "I would not trade my place with him, even if it meant that I would have the love of such a Lady as you." His eyes sparkled behind his mask, and she felt the truth of him. "But I was once his friend, long, long ago, before he was a King, and bore the weight of the Labyrinth upon his shoulders. I would be his friend again, if his heart were to open once more."

The song was coming to an end, and time slowed with it.

"I'm afraid our candle is burnt low, Gentle Lady," he said, and she heard honest regret in his voice. "He will be here shortly, if his jealousy doesn't cause him to burst into flame." He smiled. "Please, remember me, when everything is done."

"I don't understand," she said, and he bowed low over her hand and brushed his lips over her bruised knuckles.

"I'm afraid you will, rather soon. Remember what I said. Patience. And hope."

"What might I call you?" she asked, remembering in time that it was impolite to ask the Fae their names. He smiled a gentle smile at her, and bowed to her once more.

"I am called Kundrun, by your kind." He pressed something small into her palm. "Keep it with you," he said. "You will need it."

And then he was gone, and she was left staring at a simple silver chain from which hung a tiny, perfect, silver sword. She felt no harm in it, and so she fastened it around her neck, and slide the sword between her breasts. It rested there so lightly she barely felt it, and when she looked down, she was astonished to see that while she could feel it resting there, she could only see the ghost of the truth of it.

* * *

_AN: I'm about halfway through the next chapter, but I know some of you are impatient, as am I. You wanted a ball... I hope you're having one. :) Shove's looking forward to the next chapter. I swear, either his head is getting too big from all this attention, or he's swallowed too many socks... _


	15. Turn About

_Author's Note: The characters of Jareth, Sarah, Toby, Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, etc. belong to the wonderful Jim Henson company, and I claim no rights to them. The goblins are another story, but any resemblance to any real goblins, living or (while improbable) dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional... except for Shove, because he wouldn't leave me alone until I put him in the story. _

_ er... I suppose I should give a content warning for the events that occur at the end of this chapter. Proably, most definitely, Mature. although I was doing my best not to be TOO explicit. I'm a bit fuzzy on the exact limits of what I can and cannot put up here.  
_

* * *

The music was starting again, and looking around she saw no sign of the Goblin King, although she could sense a tingle of awareness, letting her know he was nearby. She refused to play his game, however, and made her way off the floor to stand beside some of her mother's friends, who were watching the dancers, and fanning themselves with elaborate feather fans. 

The dancers whirled by, and she watched the fae and the mortals dance side by side, and felt the room waver between worlds as the magic of the music pulsed within it.

"No," she heard the woman beside her say, "I'm sure I've seen him before."

"He's gorgeous. I wonder where Karen found him."

She turned to follow their gaze. In the midst of the dancers, she caught a glimpse of her mother's pink gown swaying in time to the music, and as she whirled around, Sarah saw her partner.

It was Jareth. He wore the same blue, gem studded coat as he had worn long ago, when she had been just a girl who had eaten a peach and tasted the future. His hair was wild, and streaked with a shimmering blue glamor that only highlighted the silken paleness of it. His face was aristocratic, but he was smiling slightly at the blonde woman who was doing her best to keep up with his graceful feet and failing abominably. The only reason, Sarah thought, Karen didn't trip over her own feet was that he would not tarnish his dignity by letting her.

The woman beside her said, "It's like something from a dream..." And Sarah looked at her sharply, for she heard truth in the words.

"Do you know him?" she asked, cautiously.

The woman (her name, Sarah remembered, was, laughably, Winnie) looked as if she were half dreaming as she struggled to recall some memory.

"It was an old dream," she said, and Sarah bent closer to hear her breathy whisper, "I dreamed...I had a baby. I suppose it's not so odd, since I'm barren, to dream of having a child, but ... I remember his name was Steven. Stevie. He was so little. I was young, in my dream. Only a girl just married. He kept crying. I was so angry. I wanted to go shopping, with my friends, but with the baby we couldn't afford it, and there was no one to watch him. But he wouldn't stop crying..."

"Go on," Sarah said softly.

"There was a story, an old one, my mother told me once. That if I was bad the Goblins would come and take me away. And he was being so bad, god the crying... so I wished... I wished him away, didn't I? And this man, so beautiful, so handsome. He was there, and the baby wasn't, and he said I could have whatever I wanted, if I just forgot the baby. And I wanted so much... so very much...," she came back from wherever the memory had taken her, and laughed. It was a shallow laugh, as hollow as the woman it came from. "Just a silly dream, of course. But I'll be damned if that man doesn't look just like him." Her face grew sly, and her eyes cold as she watched the Goblin King waltz Karen around the room. "It would be nice to meet the man of my dreams... I wonder if Karen would introduce us."

The woman's friend tutted at her. "What about Harold?" she asked.

"What about him? He's got his yoga instructor," she smirked, and then they both laughed and Sarah had to move away from them, because their laughs felt like shards of glass raining over her.

A movement caught her eye. Scampering across the floor, avoiding the heels of the women and the shoes of the men, was Shove. He quickly scampered past her, until he was crouching just beside Winnie's heeled shoes. He glanced up at Sarah once, with a fierce, and knowing smile, and then reached out and broke the heel off of the woman's shoe as easily as if he were plucking a banana.

Winnie let out a shriek, and toppled backward into a stout man with a full glass of wine, which promptly spilled over her head and down the front of her gown. She shrieked again, and Shove did a joyful little dance, and stuck his tongue out at Winnie, and for a moment she seemed to see him, and shrieked "Stevie!" before falling into a dead faint. Shove laughed and threw the heel so that it bounced off the unconscious woman's forehead.

"I assume you've had your fun, now," said a clipped male voice from just behind her, and Shove gave the Goblin King one last fierce smile, and then popped out of sight.

"Oh, Sarah, there you are!" Karen sounded breathless. "I just borrowed your boyfriend for a turn around the fl—oh my god, what happened to you Winnie?" and then she was off and running as fast as her high heels, cumbersome skirts, and lack of real grace would allow her.

Sarah paid her no mind. Her eyes were elsewhere, locked onto the cold, mismatched eyes of the man who stood before her.

"Dance with me," he said, and then, after a moment in which she neither spoke nor moved, but merely studied him, waiting, he added, "please."

She put her hand into his black gloved one, and then there was no room, no dancers, nothing else in the world but the music lifting them up, and his arms around her, and the feel of him holding her tightly, as if he would never let go. Every nerve in her body woke up, every inch of her flesh begged to be pressed against him. Every female instinct she had was madly urging her to push her hips against his, to press her breasts against the hard wall of his chest, to part her lips and invite his kisses. It was only with a severe inner struggle that she squashed her urges into a corner, and kept her face as impassive as possible.

As with his kisses, she knew this was no dream. She was aware of the brush of his coat against the front of her gown, of the way his breath fanned over her skin, of the warmth of his body, and the way the hand on her waist felt so intimate as he spun her, holding her up with his strength alone, for her knees had gone weak ages ago.

She tried to pull herself into check again, but his grip on her hand tightened perceptibly.

"Still, you resist me," he said, bending his head so that his lips brushed against the shell of her ear. "A strange reaction from someone who offered me her heart mere hours ago. I suppose you're going to tell me you didn't mean it."

"I meant it, every word," she said, praying that he wouldn't feel the trembling the proximity of him caused in her.

"Every word, hmmm?" he purred and she felt his laugh when she couldn't control the trembling anymore. "Are you cold, Sarah?"

"No," she said, from between clenched teeth. And he laughed again, that same cold, brittle laugh. She didn't realize it until she felt the wall behind her that he'd swept them into a dark, isolated corner of the room. The wall pulsed as the tension between them grew, and she felt it fade from Faerie to her world and back again, and she realized it was doing so in time with her heartbeat. Without thinking, she slid a hand up to touch his chest, pushing aside the blue coat to lay her hand over his heart.

With a growl he forced her up against the wall, and pressed his lips to hers hard enough to bruise them and she knew then that she was forever his. She wanted him, wanted to taste the darkness in him and give him her light. She wanted him to love her as fiercely as he wanted her, and she knew her heart would not know a moment's peace until he did. He wanted her badly, she found that truth with her whole body as he pressed her against the length of him. She whimpered against his mouth, and he drew back, a ragged breath caught in his throat.

"Do you know what you've given me, Sarah?" he said roughly. "For I do, and know this, little girl, I have no intention of giving it back." She reached up, with both hands, and brushed her fingertips over his flawless cheekbones, before drawing him back down and parting her lips beneath his. He groaned against her, the sound drawn from deep in his chest. "No more interruptions," he said against her lips, and then the wall was gone, and she was falling a fraction of an inch into the softness of her own bed.

The room was dark, but she could tell it too pulsed with her heart, merging with the magic and drawing back again, more quickly, as his hands found the lacing at the back of her gown. He tore at them, and she gasped as his mouth possessively claimed hers and the gown came open. With an oath, he slid it down over her shoulders, trapping her arms, and baring her corseted breasts. She felt him do something, in his frustration, and then the dress was off of her, discarded in a heap on the floor, and she was never sure, afterwards, whether he'd torn it from her body or whether it was magic. But it didn't matter, because then he was undoing the laces of the corset, and pulling it away from her, and she was pushing at his clothing until his coat and vest were off, and his shirt was open and she was pressing her skin to his. He trailed his mouth over her throat, his hands working frantically to get rid of her stockings and underwear, until she was completely bare to him.

He pulled away, staring down at the length of her stretched out beneath him, and she felt his hesitation.

"Look," she said. "Look at what I'm offering you." And she held out her arms to draw him back down against her. Still, he held himself above her. "Your dreams," she whispered. "Fear me, love me," she begged, pressing kisses against the corner of his mouth. "Love me," she pleaded. "Do as I say and I will be your slave."

There was a hint of dark amusement in his eyes as he stared down at her, smirking a little. Then, his voice rich with sarcasm, he said "It's not fair." He brushed her hair away from her face, gently, and then brushed his lips over hers. "My love," he said, and in that moment, she felt him part her legs, and press his hips down against hers until she cried out with the pain and the pleasure of it, and he claimed her as his.

Their hearts pounded, matched by the merging of their worlds, until they shared a single rhythm, and when the world exploded, they went over the edge of it together, and she felt a great surge of joy and loss, and then a flare of something wild and uncontrolled as it roiled around her, and then within her. She felt as if he were pouring himself into her, and she could not contain it all, it was pulling her apart. But she bit down on his sweaty shoulder, and clenched around him, holding him and letting him hold her, until the feeling subsided, and the world grew quiet and still once more.

_

* * *

AN: Wait for it... _


	16. Epilogue

_Author's Note: The characters of Jareth, Sarah, Toby, Hoggle, Ludo, Didymus, etc. belong to the wonderful Jim Henson company, and I claim no rights to them. The goblins are another story, but any resemblance to any real goblins, living or (while improbable) dead, is purely coincidental and unintentional... except for Shove, because he wouldn't leave me alone until I put him in the story.  
_

* * *

His breathing was ragged, his hair brushed her face softly as he gathered her to him, and she felt the slowing beat of their hearts as they came back down. The floor was rough against her back and she shifted, trying to get more comfortable, and then froze. She opened her eyes at the same time as he did. 

The room was black as pitch. They lay, not on her bed, but on a stone floor, and the silence that cocooned them was almost impenetrable. He flung himself away from her, suddenly and she heard him cursing in the dark. She wished she could see him.

And then there was a light. A small one, to be sure, but a light never the less. It hung above her right shoulder, contained within a small, spherical crystal. She stared at it in shock, then looked around.

"Jareth," she said, "Where the hell are we?"

She heard the anger in his voice, but it didn't frighten her nearly as much as the truth she heard there, too.

"I don't know," he said. "I haven't the faintest bloody clue."

* * *

_Reasons not to Kill the Author:_

_1.) Did I mention I'm planning a sequel?  
2.) You'll never find out what happens next if you do.  
3.) It's messy, and hard to clean up, and those CSI guys would find you eventually.  
4.) Er... um... it would hurt? Me more than you, of course, but... well...  
5.) Dead authors can't type (excepting VC Andrews, of course)._

_ such a small update, this, and since you've come so far to read it, I feel I should be generous. And I will be. There will be not one but two sequels to this story. One is already haltingly in progress, called "Dangers Untold." You'll find it in my profile. It is currently on hiatus because it seems that I forgot something in this story. Something important, something that you're going to want to know. "Sometimes the way forward is the way back." In this case, it's true. So now I need to go backwards. Way back to the beginning, back to when the world fell down. And I'm going to take you all with me--one of you in particular. _

_Intrigued, my little goblins? Be patient. All it takes is one...  
_


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